


Heartbeats

by oyhumbug



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Romance, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-12
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 160,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With one order, Anthony set in motion a chain of events that would, 5 years later, change an entire town's history & future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted at fanfiction.net, LJ (oy_humbug2), my own site (Delicious Infatuation), and Liason message boards.

**Heartbeats**

**Chapter One**

The fact that she couldn’t recall her husband… soon to be ex-husband’s attorney’s name was proof enough to the young nurse that they were completely mismatched, that they never should have gotten married in the first place.   
  
Oh, thank you, hindsight.   
  
Names were a significant and important part of Nikolas’s world. Not only did a man’s – or a woman’s – own name matter, but so did those of the people they associated with. After all, a person’s name would not only detail their family ancestry, but it would also provide insight into their bank account, for someone who was worthy of associating with the Prince of the Cassadine family would not simply walk around town with a first, a middle, and a last name. Rather, their names would be long and regal, impressive and ostentatious, terribly difficult to remember.   
  
Faces, she had no problem with. Despite the fact that she saw dozens of patients each and every day at the hospital and could remember Mrs. Jennings every year when she came in for her yearly check-up because of the scar she possessed right above her right eyebrow and Mr. Reynolds when he would stop briefly to exchange a few words with her outside of Kelly’s because of the slight downward turn of his mouth due to a mild stroke many years before, her spouses’ business associates and employees always drew blanks for the petite blonde. In her mind, they all looked the same, their faces bland and indistinct, a conservative, complacent product of their stifling, blue-blood environment.   
  
Nadine, on the other hand, was just a little country bumpkin and unashamed of the fact. While she might have fallen in love with her husband for his gallantry and grace, his warmth and generosity of spirit, she had also, apparently, seen more in him than he did in himself. Plus, now, looking back, the young mother could admit that she had fallen for a man who no longer existed; the Nikolas she had loved was the Nikolas who had loved Emily, and, once he came to terms with his first wife’s death and the loss of the family and life they were making together, he changed, either back into the man he was before the Quartermaine granddaughter entered his existence or into someone she, Emily, wouldn’t recognize at all if she could see him again.   
  
But Nadine didn’t blame her soon-to-be ex for the problems in their marriage. She had gone into their union fully aware of the fact that the Cassadine prince had already loved greatly once before, but she had also been naïve enough to think it was possible for a man to love greatly more than once. Apparently, in Nikolas’s case, she had been wrong. More than four years after their marriage, her husband was still as madly in love with Emily Bowen Quartermaine as the day she died, as the day she brought their only child, a son, into the world, and, as they together sat in front of the family lawyer, she knew that fact would never change.   
  
Their relationship had been a whirlwind affair, for the blonde nurse had fallen hard for the wealthy gentleman and had fallen quickly. Looking back, she realized that Nikolas had just been on the rebound, that she was soft, and kind, and sweet towards both him and his infant son, and he had latched onto that compassion like a drowning man seeking a life preserver. She, as depressing as it sounded now, was convenient for the prince. Not only did she distract him from his wife’s loss, but she also took care of his infant son when he didn’t have the strength to take care of himself.   
  
Less than six months after she met Nikolas Cassadine, new to the town of Port Charles and her job at General Hospital, Nadine Crowell had married the handsome, reclusive widower, immediately moving into his home on Spoon Island, effectively isolating herself from the rest of the world. Her day started to revolve around her men – both Spencer, named for Nikolas’s deceased mother’s late husband’s family, and Nikolas. She scaled down her hours at the hospital, threw herself into the appropriate charity work for a woman of her new social standing, and attempted to become, in essence, a princess fit to be married to the Cassadine prince. Unfortunately, she was not cut out for the job.  
  
Her body felt awkward in the rich, opulent dresses someone of her wealth and status should wear; she preferred her old, worn scrubs. As for the jewelry, the tiaras, the rings, the neck achingly heavy necklaces, Nadine just felt like a foolish little girl playing dress-up when she put them on, and she hadn’t liked playing dress-up as a child, let alone as an adult. The other women who belonged to Nikolas’s social set didn’t approve of her marriage to the head of the Cassadine family, so they snubbed her, and, once their honeymoon had concluded, Nikolas simply ignored her. She was there to serve a purpose when she was needed, but, otherwise, he wanted her out of sight and out of mind.   
  
However, Nadine hadn’t been so quick to give up. Latching onto the idea of a child, she had pestered her husband until he relented enough to grant her permission to seek out adopting a little girl. In a not-so-kind manner, he already explained to her that he had an heir in his son with Emily, and he did not want another child that could, in the future, threaten to seek a part of his child’s inheritance. The ever-optimistic blonde, though, believed her husband to be just jaded, and she was positively certain that, as soon as he held their daughter in his arms for the first time, he would fall in love with her, too.  
  
He hadn’t, and, now, more than four years later, here they were, meeting with the Cassadine family attorney, seeking a quick and painless solution to their marriage. While the man, whose name she still could not recall, rattled on and on about family properties and heirlooms which she would have no claim to considering she wasn’t a Cassadine by birth, Nadine had zoned out of the arbitration meeting. Frankly, she just wanted out of her marriage as unscathed as possible. The material possessions mattered nothing to her.   
  
“And, now, that brings us to the issue of alimony.” She was just about to inform the graying, older man that such a matter was not necessary when he continued to speak, the words that came out of his mouth rendering her silent for several awkward, inept moments. “Mr. Cassadine is prepared to offer you, Mrs. Cassadine, thirty thousand dollars a month in alimony payment in order for you to remain living in the manner you have become accustomed to as his wife.”  
  
Swallowing thickly, Nadine barely managed to make her voice work, and, when she spoke, the sounds that were emitted from her mouth sounded more like weak squeaks than the words of an educated woman. “Can you run that number by me again, because I could have sworn that you said thirty thousand dollars, but that’s just preposterous? I mean, that’s just insane.”  
  
“No,” the lawyer spoke without emotion, removing his frameless spectacles to peer across the table at her in a rather bored fashion. “You heard correctly, Madam.”  
  
Suddenly, she found herself desperate to remember the older man’s name. Maybe, if she could actually address him properly, he would take her more seriously, but all she could think of were those adorable rabbits that used to hop around in the Cadbury bunny commercials during Easter time, and the man looked nothing like a soft, tame pet.   
  
Petulantly, the soon-to-be single again nurse folded her casually attired arms across her chest, realizing, in that moment, what a contrast she made against her husband’s always impeccable appearance. While she was in a pair of old, torn jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, Nikolas was in a three piece, harsh, black suit. In fact, he was dressed very similarly to his attorney. He would be, she found herself snorting silently in her own mind.  
  
“Look, this is ridiculous. I don’t want alimony. I’m a nurse. I moved out of this house a month ago, and I’ve been supporting myself ever since without help or an allowance from _my husband_.” Glaring at a sullen Nikolas, she pressed on. “I’m perfectly capable of providing for myself and my children without anyone’s assistance. While I might not be able to drive a Jag or wear fancy clothes made by pompous designers with even more pompous names, my salary from General Hospital is sufficient enough, thank you very much.”  
  
Sighing, the attorney was just about to press the matter when the Cassadine prince interrupted him. “Please, just move forward, Mr. Elsberry. I’m sure Mrs. Cassadine and I will be able to come up with some form of compromise eventually on our own, and, when we do, I’ll inform you of our new, agreed upon terms. After all,” he finally addressed her, leveling a cool, calculated glare in her direction, “Nadine certainly doesn’t want to drag this divorce out any longer than necessary.”  
  
“Oh, please, like you want to be married to me anymore than I want to be married to you,” she snapped back, entirely too sick and tired of her soon-to-be ex’s put-upon attitude. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you were the one who asked for this divorce. No, wait,” Nadine corrected herself. “You didn’t ask; you demanded.”  
  
Waving a trivializing hand, Nikolas argued, “details.”  
  
Settling back in her uncomfortable, no doubt priceless chair that had once belonged to Someone the Great or, more likely, Someone the Terrible, considering she was married to a Cassadine, the petite blonde waited for the next item of settlement that the attorney felt it was necessary for them to discuss. At least now she knew why she always craved chocolate in the man’s presence. His name rhymed with the famed Easter candy brand.   
  
“Now, that only leaves us with the matter of custody to discuss.”  
  
“There’s nothing to discuss,” her regrettable spouse interjected helpfully. Finally, Nadine could sigh in relief. At least, Nikolas was going to do the right thing by their children, even if he was incapable of doing right by her. Just like she had realized, because of his busy lifestyle and demanding business commitments, primary custody of both Spencer and Laura should go to her, and then he would be able to see their kids anytime he wanted or was capable of spending more than an hour or two in their presence.  
  
“Spencer, of course, will remain with me, seeing as how Nadine is just his step-mother and rather meaningless in his life at this point, and Laura will go to live with her mother. She has no ties to me, no real, blood ones anyway, and I’ve never had much interest in the girl. Besides, what would I do with a daughter?”  
  
She couldn’t speak; she couldn’t even breathe. If that was her husband’s idea of an appropriate custody arrangement, he had another thing coming. While she had believed herself perfectly aware of all Nikolas Cassadine’s flaws and defects of character, this – his apparent coldness and disinterest in his own children’s best interest - made her queasy. How had she ever believed herself in love with such a man? Why did she think it was a good idea to adopt a child with him in the first place? She should have known better. Her Aunt Rayleen had raised her better.   
  
Recapturing her attention, the attorney spoke. “Are these terms and conditions of custody satisfactory for you, Mrs. Cassadine?”  
  
“They absolutely are not!”  
  
“What,” Nikolas demanded, showing for the first time that morning that his dignified feathers had been ruffled. “Why the hell not?”  
  
Standing up abruptly, Nadine stated, “this meeting is over. I’ll show myself out.”  
  
No one stopped her, no one demanded she explain herself, and she was quite glad for the temporary concession. While she wasn’t sure what she was going to do, she was going to talk to her brother, get his opinion on what her next move could and should be. After all, she was just a nurse, a point that was, if not exactly plainly stated during the arbitration meeting, hammered home through innuendo and scathing derision. How in the hell was she supposed to fight a prince, let alone one that had no qualms about fighting dirty? She had no idea, but, hopefully, her brother would.

} ~ {

Her best friend was a four year old little girl.  
  
The strangest aspect of this fact, for that’s what it was, was that Maxie really didn’t mind. She didn’t cringe in embarrassment, nor did she shudder at the idea either. True, Cate was her charge, her niece, and her responsibility when her mother wasn’t around, but she was also a pretty kickass kidlet… something she told the toddler quite often in confidence. After all, in her opinion, it was never too soon to start building up the little girl’s ego. If she was going to survive in their family, with women such as Robin, her mother, and her other aunt, Georgie the Good, she would need to be both thick-skinned and slightly narcissistic.   
  
It wasn’t that Maxie didn’t love her family, for she did, tremendously; the issue she had with them came from their sheer perfection. In their Uncle Mac’s eyes, neither Robin nor Georgie could do wrong, while, on the other hand, Maxie was the perpetual screw-up, the disappointment. She had not gone to college, she didn’t single handedly unite their hometown of Port Charles together to rally and raise holy hell against the evils of HIV and AIDS, and she, unlike her two counterparts, had a record.  
  
For shoplifting… more than once.   
  
For one inconsequential, silly, little mix-up that resulted in the charges of public drunkenness, underage drinking, and indecent exposure.   
  
Oh, and then there was also that homemade sex film of her and one of her numerous high school boyfriends that had made it onto the internet. Not that said porn movie was her fault, and, in her opinion, upon looking back at it, it was rather tasteful… as far as amateur sex films went. She had been an unwilling participant… at least in the role of the unpaid, untrained Jenna Jameson. But her Uncle Mac had not seen things in the same light. He had been furious that she was having sex, let alone so promiscuously, and, ever since her slightly rowdy high school days, she had been labeled the trouble maker of the Scorpio-Jones family.   
  
It didn’t matter that she was now the responsible, trustworthy nanny of his beloved great-niece, that his precious Robin had trusted her enough to care for her one and only daughter. While her cousin had obviously forgiven and, more importantly, forgotten about her past escapades, the man who had raised her could not, and, as Cate’s honorary aunt, she refused to allow the blonde haired, blue eyed future beauty to suffer the same unreasonable judgment. After all, the likelihood that she would someday do something to disappoint Mac was great, for no one was perfect… not even Robin’s adopted daughter, but, when that happened, thanks to her amazing aunt Maxie and her tireless tutelage, she would be prepared to let the disillusionment simply roll off her toned, tanned, and graceful back.   
  
The only problem was that she had yet to figure out such an attitude for herself. It seemed as if, no matter what she did, her pseudo-dad was never happy. He disapproved of the fact that she now lived in Paris with Robin, earning her room and board and a little spending money in exchange for watching Cate while Robin was at work, and he found her dream of one day becoming a famous, well sought after fashion designer to be pure fantasy. He couldn’t see how talented for such a career she was.   
  
While he would compliment her on the fresh, beautiful clothes she wore, he never believed her, not completely, that they were of her own design and making, and, whenever a new picture of Cate was sent home, one inevitably where she was wearing an MJ original, he always would praise Robin for her shopping skills. And then there were the few times where random strangers would stop her in the street to ask her about where she had found ‘those amazing pair of shoes’ or ‘that envy-inspiring spring jacket,’ and she would rush home breathlessly to phone and tell the man who had raised her about the chance admiration, but he never quite seemed to hear her, would always rush off, claiming she shouldn’t waste Robin’s money by making frivolous calls, and would inevitably close the hasty, unfulfilling conversation by beseeching her to go back to school, to study something worthwhile like medicine or law… just like Robin and Georgie, respectively.   
  
But Cate was never dismissive, and she was always quite freely giving of her affections for her aunt cum glorified babysitter. She would sit and work beside Maxie for hours while the starry-eyed young woman sketched and drew to her cashmere covered heart’s content, and she always lavished colorful and enthusiastic approval upon all of Maxie’s self-designed outfits. She was sincerely appreciative of whenever her aunt made her a new, pretty dress, and she never failed to both thank her and tell anyone who would listen that she wore an MJ original. And, when all else failed, and neither of them could stay cooped up in the small yet comfortable apartment any longer, Cate was always up for another window shopping adventure, never once complaining about being tired or the fact that they only tried on the fancy, expensive clothes and never bought anything.   
  
Quite frankly, sometimes Maxie wondered if she had somehow blocked out nine months of her own life, secretly gotten pregnant and gave birth to a little girl, and, then, later, turned right around and put her daughter up for adoption, somehow ending up with her own cousin as the infant’s mother. She and Cate were that close. Plus, they kind of looked alike, too, and Robin could certainly not say the same about her four year old. Although their bone structures and the shape of their features were contrasting, their coloring was similar, and, often, while the two of them were out and about on the bustling streets of Paris, passerby’s would often mistake them for a mother-daughter pair.   
  
Surprisingly, the aspiring fashion designer never corrected them.  
  
It wasn’t that she wanted to be a mother. In fact, the truth was definitely the opposite. Her figure was her second priority, following closely behind her future career, and she would never risk it by squeezing a watermelon out of her cervix. Not only was such an idea disgusting to Maxie, but it was also unbelievably scary. Plus, in her opinion, she was far too selfish and self-concerned to ever be a full-time parent. While it was one thing to dedicatedly take care of someone else’s kid, it was a whole different story to be the one listed on the birth certificate, and, frankly, she didn’t want to find out first hand just how much.   
  
“Emmy is going to be a big sister,” Cate informed her, breaking through the comfortable silence that had shrouded the two blondes that afternoon while they designed and colored away. Emmy was the little neighbor girl her charge sometimes played with. The five year old native French girl lived two floors up in the same apartment building, and she and Cate got along famously, especially when they invited the older girl down to play dress up. “Will I ever be a big sister.”  
  
“Probably not.”  
  
She always answered her niece honestly, no matter what. It was the one thing she demanded from Robin when she took the job of Cate’s nanny. While the situations were completely unrelated, because of her heart transplant when she was a mere child herself, Maxie knew how important honesty was to a kid, and she had refused being party to any lies, even if, for the time being, they were told under the premise of protecting Cate.   
  
“Why not,” the four year old petulantly asked. By her tone, Maxie could tell she was both pouting and curious.   
  
“Well, let’s put it this way.” Pausing, she put down her pencil, sliding her sketch pad away from her relaxed, resting form. They were both on their stomachs, knees bent so that their legs were crossed and wavering slightly in the air behind them, their torsos propped up thanks to their elbows as they drew the hours away side by side. Glancing at her niece, she not only explained but also teased. “I think you’re destined to be a spoiled, bratty, only child just like your mother but for completely different reasons. While Robin’s parents ran off and played dead for more than a decade, your Mom, I think, will purposely choose to keep you sibling free.”  
  
While she knew that her charge couldn’t understand half of the words she said, Maxie used them anyway. In her mind, while she was telling the four year old the truth, she was also confusing her enough so that she really wouldn’t comprehend what she was being told and would save further, more complicated queries for the future, hopefully the distant future… say, perhaps, a day that her own mother was actually taking care of her instead of wasting her life away in a stifling, bland laboratory.   
  
The silence returned, and she happily went back to sketching, but it didn’t last for long, and, this time when Cate prepared to ask her question, she sat up, informing Maxie that her niece’s query was about to become even more serious, that her second inquiry was even more important to her. So much for her bamboozle and distract tactic. “I was adopted, right? You told me that.” When the older blonde nodded her head, assenting to the reminder, the four year old pressed on. “Well, what does that mean? Adopted?”  
  
Oh, this she was prepared for, thankfully. “Do you remember that pet shop we went into a couple months ago, and they had those kittens for little boys and girls to adopt?”  
  
“They were so cute.” Frowning, Cate complained, “but mommy wouldn’t allow we to get one.”  
  
“I know,” Maxie waved off her niece’s complaint, refusing to tell her that she was the one who had actually nixed the kitten idea with Robin behind her back. After all, cat fur on her one-of-a-kinds? Absolutely not! “Anyway,” she got back to the point. “Just like with the kittens’ momma cat, there was a kind, obviously beautiful lady because look how gorgeous you are who needed someone to look after you for her, and your mommy agreed.” To make the little girl feel special, she added, “your mommy wanted you so much, she went out shopping for you, and I think we both know how much your mommy hates to go shopping.”  
  
Cate giggled. “She’d rather clean my room for me.”  
  
“And me,” Maxie bragged, smiling crookedly in secret exploitation with her charge. They both often took advantage of Robin’s lack of adoration towards exercising her credit cards. Where she lacked, though, they picked up the slack.   
  
Getting back to the topic at hand, Cate wanted to know, “so, she really got me at a store?”  
  
“The best store in the world.”  
  
With round, amazed eyes, the toddler asked, “at Bergdorf Goodman’s?”  
  
Oh, she had taught her charge well. “Maybe the second best,” Maxie corrected, affectionately running her fingers through the four year old’s tightly coiled, darling curls. As she stood up, quietly holding out her hand so that Cate would take it and follow her into their tiny, cramped kitchen, she waited for the next inevitable question.   
  
“And did I have a daddy cat like the kittens, too? Did he want mommy to look after me as well?”  
  
“He was just borrowed for a little while to make you,” the older blonde stated, realizing how incorrect such a statement sounded but also knowing it was something Cate would accept without further questioning towards Robin. Adding clarification, she explained, “like the sewing machine I borrow sometimes to make my designs.”  
  
This seemed to excite her charge. “So, I’m like a one-of-a-kind MJ original?”  
  
“Of course you are!”  
  
And, with that, Cate seemed to settle down, her questions, at least for that day, satisfied, and the two of them went back to their regular routine - hanging out like best friends should.

} ~ {

He was a top level, highly trained bodyguard for the mob, but what he felt like was a damn babysitter, and Max Giambetti hated it. Though most people would prefer the safety of door duty – and, in fact, he had been counted in that group himself just six months prior, now, the burly Italian would have done just about anything to trade in his good manners and polished etiquette for an adrenaline pumping, take no prisoners gun battle down on the docks. Instead, he signed for packages, relayed messages to the other men, and intercepted guests. And that was on a good day. A bad day consisted of Max breaking up yet another argument between his temperamental boss and his temperamental boss’ equally as neurotic girlfriend… wife… attorney with benefits? Really, he wasn’t entirely sure what Alexis was to Sonny.   
  
And, now, it was his responsibility to greet his boss’ partner on his first day back into town after a five year absence and somehow smoothly both explain the changes that had taken place during that time and transition the organization’s shadowy partner into accepting them without question or debate. So, really, when one thought about it, wishing for a gun, a bulletproof vest, and a pissed off target to aim towards in that moment wasn’t that startling. Anything was better than attempting to placate Jason Morgan.   
  
But his life simply wasn’t that accommodating at that point, and he wasn’t entirely surprised by the latest turn of events that made antacids his new best friend. And Jason wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, outside of the organization and away from work, Max considered him a friend. After all, the enforcer was the one who trained him when he was first coming up through the ranks all those years before, and the man could hold his liquor and shoot a better game of pool than anyone else the Italian had ever met. However, he was also the deadliest man Max had ever come into contact with as well, and he had never wanted to be at the receiving end of the blonde’s wrath… something that was probably inevitable considering the conversation he was prepared to have with him. And, knowing Jason, he wouldn’t just be on time, preventing Max from having a few extra minutes to brace himself, but he would, in fact, be early. He was always early.  
  
The soft, almost imperceptible peal of a bell, something a man could miss if he wasn’t intentionally listening for the sound, announced the hitman’s arrival just moments later, and the guard found himself standing up just a little bit straighter, rolling back his shoulders a little bit more, and bracing himself for the surge of unpleasantness he was about to collide with. Not that he could blame Jason any for his expected reaction. Nothing the blonde would be anticipating would either be there or would happen, and it was Max’s duty to inform him of such and why.   
  
The elevator doors chimed as they opened, and then the sound of a heavy tread made by well-worn, durable motorcycle boots filled the otherwise silent, marble floored hallway. Schooling his face, the security expert met the enforcer’s steely gaze, never once blinking or glancing away, for he felt such actions would be viewed as backing down, as cowardly. Nodding deferentially, he greeted the other man, “Mr. Morgan.”  
  
But, instead of returning the socially accepted gesture, Jason simply demanded to know, “where’s Johnny,” rocking Max back mentally if not physically with his unexpected question.  
  
He didn’t take offense with the fact that the expert gunman didn’t ask how he was or shake his hand. Such niceties, while viewed as convention to the rest of the world, simply didn’t register on the blonde’s radar. He was practical, almost to a fault, blunt, and to the point, but everyone knew that about Jason, so no one paid it any mind or even gave it a second thought. Besides, the bodyguard had bigger issues to worry about considering the fact that his boss, that Sonny, had not informed his partner of the fact that their third in command had taken an ordered dive off the Elm Street pier.   
  
As succinctly as he could and without emotion, Max explained, “Johnny’s dead… on Mr. Corinthos’ orders. He, uh…” Finally showing some anxiety, the hefty Italian tugged nervously on his right earlobe with his right hand, lowering his gaze to the floor where his leather dress shoe encased feet shuffled uncertainly. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he resumed his clarification. “It was discovered that Johnny was working for the enemy.”  
  
“Johnny O’Brien,” Jason queried, sounding decidedly doubtful, something he himself could commiserate with.   
  
It had taken him months to wrap his own mind around the knowledge that his friend and fellow employee had turned sides against Sonny, and it had taken him even longer to come to some sort of understanding as to why the affable Irishman had felt the need to do such a thing. Johnny’s decision had nothing to do with power, or greed, or a sense of revenge against someone he perceived to have wronged him; the other man had simply believed his actions to be justified. Apparently, there were a lot of things that Jason Morgan had been kept in the dark about, including the state of unrest currently plaguing the men in the Corinthos organization, but Max knew it was not his place to fill the enforcer in on all the sordid details. Even if Sonny had been downright negligent when it came to keeping his partner abreast of all the current information pertaining to their business, he was still the boss, and it was still his responsibility to talk to Jason.   
  
So, with that in mind, the guard simply said, “Johnny disagreed with some of Mr. Corinthos’ decisions and, apparently, felt that another mob boss was more suited to run Port Charles. Really, Mr. Morgan,” Max beseeched his friend formally. “This is something you should talk to Mr. Corinthos about.”  
  
“Alright, I will.” When the blonde made his way towards the door that the security expert was standing beside, Max did nothing to open the entrance or to announce Jason’s presence, halting the other man’s advancement. “Sonny’s not home?” He nodded his head negatively, refraining from saying more. “When I got into town, I was told he wanted to see me, that it was important. Hell, the only reason I’m back here is because Sonny said he needed me to return for a job.” Growing frustrated, the hitman’s voice became slightly elevated. “What the hell is going on here, Max? Where’s Sonny?”  
  
“He’s across the hall,” Max informed the newly returned partner. Pointing towards Alexis’ penthouse, he clarified, “at Miss Davis’.” Jason had only managed to take three steps in the direction of the formidable yet completely insane lawyer’s home before the Italian spoke up once again. “And I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”  
  
Jason spun around to face him, appearing anything but calm but, at the same time, still in control. “Why not?”  
  
“Just trust me when I say that it’s best not to disturb them.”  
  
The enforcer tilted his head to the side, observing the bodyguard. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Max, something about Sonny and Alexis?”  
  
“Well, I’m sure that Mr. Corinthos has already informed you of…”  
  
“Sonny hasn’t told me anything other than the fact that I needed to get my ass back here immediately. It’s been months since I’ve talked to him, I was under the impression that everything was running smoothly here, but, obviously, I was wrong.”  
  
And the fact that the blonde had said so much in such a short time span without pausing once to take a breath told Max that Jason wasn’t too pleased with his former, inaccurate assumptions. Deciding, despite the fact that it wasn’t his place, to be perfectly honest with the other man, the guard tersely stated, “Miss Davis is expecting.”  
  
“Expecting what?”  
  
Rolling his eyes, the burly security expert practically moaned in frustration. After all, Jason wasn’t the only one not enjoying his first day back to Port Charles. “A baby,” he told his friend. “She and Mr. Corinthos are expecting a child together… and I take it by the look on your face right now that you didn’t even know that they were… together.”  
  
The hitman’s brow furrowed. “How together?”  
  
“Uh, they’re married… kind of,” Max explained helpfully. Unfortunately, that only seemed to baffle Jason more.   
  
“And they live together across the hall in Alexis’ apartment? Why does she still go by the name Miss Davis?”  
  
Preparing himself, the bodyguard took a quick yet sustaining gulp of fresh air before diving right into a short account of his boss’ current personal life. “When Miss Davis found out she was pregnant, Sonny insisted upon marriage, upon her moving in with him, upon her quitting her job, and, of course, being Alexis, she balked. Eventually, they compromised, after months and months of fighting and several panic attacks on Miss Davis’ part. Now, they live separately across the hall from each other, Sonny’s allowed to see her whenever he wants between the hours of ten and eight, she still works for Corinthos & Morgan, but her case load has been scaled back and she’s hired several paralegals to help out down at the office, and they’re married, but Miss Davis refused to take Sonny’s name.”  
  
Jason’s response surprised Max, but, afterwards, he realized it shouldn’t have. “What the fuck does this have to do with me? Why did Sonny call me back here, and it better not be to play referee between him and Alexis? I’ve done that once before, for him and Carly, and I refuse to do it again.”  
  
“Well, I’m not sure that I should say anything. I’m sure that Mr. Corinthos would like to explain this to you himself. After all, it was his decision, and I really don’t know all the details, so you should just…”  
  
As he watched the trained gunman’s hands drift towards the back waistband of his faded jeans, the security expert’s words trailed off. In contrast to his irate expression, though, when Jason spoke, his words were both quiet and composed. “Why am I here, Max?”  
  
“Mr. Corinthos made a deal with Anthony Zacchara. Now, I’m not sure what the finer points of this deal were, but you’re back here to train his son, Johnny, to get him ready to take over for his father in the next year or so.”  
  
Without a word, the blonde spun around on his heels and stalked over to the elevator, punching the button that would take him back down to where he came from just minutes before. Max knew his friend was pissed, that he was beyond livid, but, for some reason, he found that he couldn’t shut up, that he just kept talking, no doubt inevitably making the situation worse.   
  
“Do you want to leave with me a number or a place where Mr. Corinthos can get in touch with you once he’s finished with Miss Davis? I’m sure he’ll be disappointed that he missed your visit, and that way he can call you himself when he’s free to meet later. Maybe the two of you could go out for some dinner tonight. You could discuss the deal, and he could tell you all about the changes that have been going on around here for the past five years since you’ve been gone.”  
  
But Jason never responded; hell, he didn’t even spare Max a second glance, but the Italian knew the blonde’s anger was not directed towards him but, instead, was aimed at Sonny. Still, though, he wished he knew or, at least, had an inkling of what the enforcer was planning on doing next, because, if Jason disappeared again for five years, he, Max, was going to be the one held responsible, and it wouldn’t surprise him that, if such a thing occurred, he would join Johnny O’Brien at the bottom of the Port Charles harbor. And that was precisely why he fucking hated babysitting duty.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Elizabeth Webber couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t an unusual phenomenon for the young woman, though. Actually, in fact, it seemed as if she battled insomnia almost every night. Some evenings were worse than others, and, on that particular night, she had a feeling that the three hours of rest she had already managed to squeeze in would be all the rest she would be acquiring before she tried again, unsuccessfully, the next night.  
  
It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired. In fact, her body felt downright exhausted, but that was typical of a surgical scrub nurse who worked more hours in a week than she was off. Whenever there was any possible over time available, Elizabeth snatched it up, hoping the fatigue would eventually catch up with her and finally make her collapse for a good eight hours. But such an amount of sleep was unheard of in her life… or, at least, it was now. Five years ago, she had the capability to sleep like a baby, but that, like so many other things in her life, had changed.  
  
Sometimes, a glass of wine would be enough to relax her to the point of slumber. It would unwind her tightly coiled mind, numb her psyche to the point where she wouldn’t constantly dream of the past and hear the sounds that she never was quite able to forget, but, on other evenings, the alcohol only seemed to key her up even more. When that happened, she had no choice but to get out of bed, to put on her robe, and patter around her large, Manhattan apartment until she found something to occupy her time. Whether it was an old movie on the cable she subscribed to just for those sleepless nights or vigorous, draining cleaning, she would seek out distractions until enough time had passed for her to feasibly head back to the hospital.  
  
On that particular night, she had decided to work off some of her tension in the kitchen. Besides nursing, there was only one other thing the brunette believed she did well, and that was bake. Years before, it had just been brownies, but, after countless restless nights, she had learned other recipes, had mastered cakes, and cookies, and even pies to rival those of the grandmother she had not seen in years. Although the rarely ate the sweet concoctions herself, her coworkers seemed to enjoy her handiwork, constantly commenting, sounding amazed, on how she found time between all her double shifts to bake, and the patients, when allowed to indulge, were always more cooperative with her than they were with other nurses.  
  
On the really bad nights, however, she always went back to what she knew the best, what she was the most comfortable with, so, as she stirred the rich, thick, chocolate batter, Elizabeth focused on the routine of mixing. She felt and then savored the pull of her arm muscles as she practically blended the ingredients into submission. After all, the slight physical pain was preferred over her former mental anguish, and she welcomed the uncomfortable distraction. While the batter was already smooth and well mixed, she continued to fold the heavy concoction onto itself, the repetitive motion calming in a reassuring manner.  
  
She was so lost in her own thoughts or, rather, the lack of her own thoughts, that the nurse jumped when she felt a pair of lean yet athletic arms wrap around her waist, settling themselves quite low on her hips. As the man behind her started to nibble on her exposed neck, he queried, “couldn’t sleep again?”  
  
All she did was shake her head no in answer, remaining silent as she only intensified the movement of her hands as if she could both fold away her memories and the man standing there in their kitchen with her. She just didn’t want to deal with him, not then, not that night.  
  
“Obviously, I must be doing something wrong if you’re not completely exhausted.”  
  
And, obviously, he wasn’t going to let the topic drop until she gave him some kind of explanation. “I just have a lot on my mind, Patrick. Go back to bed.”  
  
“Come back to bed with me,” he leered, and Elizabeth knew his insistence wasn’t because he missed her but because he wanted to have sex. Again.  
  
Shrugging off his embrace, she moved across the room to where she already had a greased and ready baking dish sitting out. As she poured the batter into the pan, the brunette turned her boyfriend down. “I can’t. I need to finish these, and they’ll take at least thirty-five minutes to bake. You have a full day tomorrow, several surgeries. Even if you don’t want to be rested for them, your patients deserve you at your best.”  
  
She could hear the ice in her own voice, and, before he said a word, she knew that it would cause Patrick’s defenses to kick in. Sure enough, when he spoke, his words were equally cold, equally as hostile. “Thank you for your advice, Nurse Webber, but, seeing as how I’m the one with the M.D. following my name, how I’m the neurosurgeon, I think I’m quite capable of making those decisions for myself.”  
  
Elizabeth heard him turn to leave the room and almost sighed a breath of relief before she realized that he was still standing there, his back facing towards her. “And here’s a little piece of friendly advice for you, Elizabeth,” the arrogant man added, evidently intent upon injuring her in return. “You might want to watch all the sweets. While it’s been a few years, I remember what you looked like when you first came to work at New York-Presbyterian. You were definitely a few pounds overweight, and we wouldn’t want to see that happen to you again now, would we? After all, I think our life together is quite comfortable the way it is. We wouldn’t want something so easily controlled to rock the boat.”  
  
With that, he finally left, believing that he had succeeded in hurting her feelings, but the surgical nurse knew the truth, and, besides, even if she didn’t, such a threat from Patrick would, by no means, scare her into dieting or even watching what she ate. Not for a day in her life had she needed to be careful with food, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start at that point. Rain or shine, bed rest or constant activity, she always remained the same size, just like her sister, just like her mother, and just like her Grams. She was blessed with good metabolism on both sides of her family, but Doctor Drake didn’t need to know that. In fact, if Elizabeth had her way, he wouldn’t ever need to know anything truly personal about her. It was better that way; she was better that way; their relationship would be better that way.

} ~ {

Spinelli had been sorely tempted to call off from work that morning. After sitting up with his sister all night, going over her various options concerning her divorce, he was both drained and at a loss for words. He had never been in love before, let alone in a real relationship, so he wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to give one of his only living family members advice on how to dismantle her marriage. Although he had never been a fan of Nikolas Cassadine, Nadine had loved him, so he had put aside his reservations and supported her and her relationship with the prince completely, biting his tongue and smiling through his doubt.  
  
Look where that had gotten him, though.  
  
Here she was, years later, heartbroken, insulted, humiliated, and on the verge of losing one of her children. Whether or not Spencer was Nadine’s biological son didn’t matter to either his sister or to Spinelli. After all, their own parents had died tragically young, and they had both been raised by their aunt who couldn’t have loved them more than if she had physically given birth to them herself.  
  
The only thing he could offer his only sibling was sympathy, and he had that in bulk. He held her when she cried, made her laugh when she wanted a distraction, and promised her that he would do everything within his power to make sure that she made it through her divorce as unscathed as possible. In fact, Spinelli had even offered to start attacking Nikolas through the only avenue the hacker had available to him: the online world, but Nadine had quickly put the kibosh on her baby brother doing anything illegal.  
  
Like he would get caught, though! After all, he was The Jackal.  
  
Finally, sometime after four in the morning, he had managed to doze off, despite the fact that his sister was still talking, and, three hours later, when she woke him to shower and get ready for work, the words had been on the tip of his tongue to request that she hand him his cell phone. It would have been so easy to dial his employer’s number, to request a sick day despite not being sick, and he knew that the intrepid attorney wouldn’t begrudge him the indulgence, but, if nothing else, Spinelli believed himself to be an honorable man, so he sucked it up, drank a couple bottles of orange soda for energy, and went into work. If he was ever going to call off for being sick, he was going to be practically on his deathbed with some incurable disease… or he would be at Comicon.  
  
However, that didn’t necessarily mean that he was productive that morning. As always, Miss Miller had breezed into her luxurious, high rise offices at exactly nine a.m., an hour after he himself reported to work. In her usual, slightly high-strung, and completely dismissive yet not rude way, she had greeted him, handed off her coat and brief case, and demanded a cup of coffee – black. While she might be pretentious about what she put on her feet, the lady lawyer rarely paid any attention to what went into her mouth.  
  
Soon after she was sated with caffeine, Spinelli had returned to his desk, simply to sit there and stare blankly at his computer screen. When the phone rang, he managed to pick it up and transfer it accurately if such an action was warranted, but his skills that morning did not veer any further away from a receptionist’s duties. He didn’t read over briefs for his employer, he didn’t perform any research or take any notes for her, and he certainly didn’t type up any documents, too sure that the amount of errors he was likely to incur would be embarrassing in their number.  
  
The quiet and inactivity proved to be productive on, at least, one front, and, even though it wasn’t for the area in which he was paid to hold his job, Spinelli didn’t exactly feel remorseful about his lack of job focus. For, while he wouldn’t exactly label Miss Miller as a friend, they treated each other cordially, respectfully, and he knew that she would welcome the opportunity to weigh in with her opinion upon the problems currently wrecking havoc upon his concentration skills. So, with that in mind, he timidly, for he always moved that way, approached her closed office door, lifting one pale, thin hand to knock against the thick, rich, mahogany wood.  
  
“Yes,” the brilliant legal eagle called out. “You may enter, Mr. Grasshopper.”  
  
The computer genius, college student, and glorified secretary had always found his employer’s nickname for him both amusing and quite appropriate. While she insisted it stemmed from the way he moved, explaining that he didn’t exactly walk but more or less bounced in a similar fashion to a grasshopper, he connected the term to the idea of the attorney being his master, of being there to serve and honor her. Although Miss Miller had guffawed at his rationalization, she had yet to either deny or correct him, but he didn’t mind and had, in fact, anticipated such a reaction on her part.  
  
“Is there something wrong?”  
  
The question was succinct, to the point, and so direct that it left Spinelli slightly reeling. While he had prepared a detailed and some would probably say long winded explanation for his interruption, the jaunty red head’s query rocked his composure, catching him off guard. “Well, no… I mean, where my vocation and your expertise is concerned, there is nothing amiss, but, sadly, I am afraid that in The Jackal’s personal affairs things are not as equally composed.”  
  
Studying him closely, his boss folded her arms across her desk and leaned forward slightly, her alert and bright eyes narrowing in concentration. “Is this about a girl?”  
  
“You are so very wise and astute,” he complimented before progressing further into the reason for his unexpected visit to the Brusque Lady of Justice’s Lair of Law. “You see, it’s about my sister…”  
  
“Your sister?” In a tone that he had only heard his employer use when she was speaking to a wayward client, she addressed him, “Mr. Grasshopper, while I have always been aware that you are a square peg attempting to fit into a round world, this sort of thing is just unacceptable… even for you.”  
  
“I know,” he agreed with her wholeheartedly, advancing into her office to plop himself unceremoniously into one of the chairs adjacent to her wide, expansive desk. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”  
  
“You stop it,” Miss Miller ordered. “Immediately.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Well, of course,” she exclaimed, almost sounding hysterical. “Why… how could you do but anything else?”  
  
“While I realize that you have a taste, nay an obsession for the finer things in life, particularly designer shoes, I must confess that I’m a trifle surprised that you would defend that louse and encourage my sister to remain wedded to him.”  
  
“Ugh, Mr. Grasshopper,” his officious boss intervened without conviction. “Just what exactly are we talking about here? Don’t get me wrong. I always enjoy talking about shoes, whether we’re discussing stilettos, sandals, cute, little ballet flats, or sexy, leather boots, but I don’t understand how they’re relevant here. Weren’t we talking about you and your sister?”  
  
“And her divorce,” Spinelli added helpfully. “I was hoping you would be able to give me some legal advice pertaining to her most unsavory of circumstances. You see, the cosseted Cassadine prince is both attempting to foist upon her a ridiculous alimony settlement while, at the same time, proposing that my beloved sister never again see her son.”  
  
Immediately engrossed into her secretary’s legal woes, Diane focused upon the hacker’s concerns, their divergent thoughts from just a moment before long forgotten. “And what does her attorney think of the situation; what does he or she propose as a counter offer?”  
  
Shaking his head in dismissal, the young college student admitted, “Nadine doesn’t have her own representation. The Cassadine family lawyer, a Mr. Elsberry, is handling the matter for the both of them.”  
  
“Well, that’s the first thing she needs to address,” the red head ordered. “Your sister needs someone on her side in this divorce who will see to her own needs and wishes. I’ll tell you what,” his employer offered, already reaching for her rolodex. “Let me make some calls, find out who is available and who is the most suited for this case, and then I’ll get back to you, alright, Mr. Grasshopper? Don’t you worry your fluffy, little, messy head about this anymore. When I’m done, Nadine will be in excellent hands, not as good as mine because I’m booked solid, but someone almost as competent.”  
  
“My most sincere gratitude, Miss Miller,” Spinelli offered his boss as he stood, backed up towards the door, and slightly bowed in the attorney’s direction.  
  
Smiling brightly, he returned to work, suddenly feeling rejuvenated even without the aid of a carbonated, orange hued and flavored beverage or a helping of the finest food in the world: barbeque potato chips. With his fearless and unequally sharp employer on his sister’s side, he knew that she would be okay, that, even if unpleasant, her divorce wouldn’t be a complete disaster for the young nurse, and, on that particular day, really, Nadine happy and content again was all he could ask for. After all, she meant everything to him, even more than his beloved, treasured laptop.

} ~ {

As the only son of a man obsessed with his legacy, Johnny Zacchara had been a spoiled child, and, even as an adult, he continued to be pampered by his only remaining parent. Anthony Zacchara, reputable mob boss, doted upon his grown son, providing for him everything a man could even consider wanting. He had personal, private villas all around the world, a fleet of expensive, luxury cars, the finest designer clothes, impressive watches and other unnecessary accessories, a home theater system that could literally shake the foundation of his family home, and even a small, private jet. However, it was the simpler things in life that he found himself craving or, to be more precise, that he found his inner child desiring, but he knew then, just as he had known as a little, privileged boy growing up, that such things were impossible.  
  
Sitting by his lonesome or as lonesome as one could be with several strategically placed bodyguards protecting them, the heir to the Zacchara empire and fortune watched as several boys and girls no older than eight played together in the Port Charles park. Though he was from a rural community himself, several years earlier, after graduating from college, he had moved to the lakeside city, only traveling home to his father’s estate on the weekends in order to keep the older man appeased. Though one could not quite say that his move now provided him with privacy, it was a vast improvement from his life at Crimson Manor.  
  
Currently, he resided in a large, grand penthouse high atop the bustling, ever-growing metropolis. With panoramic views, Johnny could stand at his floor to ceiling windows and watch the goings on of Port Charles like a king, though that wasn’t his official title… yet. If it were up to his father, not only would he inherit the Zacchara empire, but he would one day come to control the entire eastern seaboard. Anthony measured the merit of a man by his possessions, by the amount of power he held. Unfortunately, for him, his son did not share these same ambitious, lofty thoughts of self-grandeur.  
  
Johnny liked the simple things in life. He liked kicking up his feet, cracking open an ice cold beer, and watching a baseball game in the comfort of his own apartment. While his father would prefer he entertain such a hobby in a field side, private, luxury box, the quiet, studious heir hated crowds. Besides, such a thing – attending a baseball game – was logistically impossible for the son of a mafia don. He liked playing the piano, driving fast, and pretty, not beautiful but pretty, girls. Beautiful girls were too pretentious, and they knew exactly how attractive they were and what said attraction could get them in the world they lived in. Perhaps because it was the life he himself came from, such entitlement was a turn off to the brunette.  
  
However, his father found playing the piano to be for sissies, he wanted his son to be chauffeured wherever he went in a bullet proof limousine, and Anthony hated women, all women, pretty or beautiful, including his own daughter. While he didn’t object to his only son finding physical release every so often, he frowned upon serious relationships and claimed that women were only good for providing a wealthy, powerful man with an appropriate heir. Too bad for him Johnny had no intentions of ever doing such a thing.  
  
When he was still quite young, he had promised himself that he would never have a child of his own. Perhaps such a decision was foolish, especially considering that he made it at such an adolescent age, but, many years later, he still stood by it, and, as he watched the various children playing happily, naively, distractedly on the swings and in the sandbox, his resolution was, once again, reinforced.  
  
Such a mundane childhood activity had always been denied to him. He had never played in a park, eaten a TV dinner, or joined a sports team while he was growing up, and Johnny would rather live the life of a monk than risk subjecting a child to the same life he himself had led. Yes, he had been given every financial advantage, but socially, emotionally, he had been stunted long before he was born thanks to his father’s chosen profession. Even to this day, he could honestly say that he had never had a friend. Sure, the guards had goofed around with him as a child, but they were paid to do such things; they didn’t start up soccer games in the rose gardens with him out of a general interest, and they didn’t inquire about his schoolwork because they actually wanted to help him with his algebra or his chemistry assignments.  
  
Hell, he wasn’t even close with his own sibling. Claudia, his older, half sister, had been a teenager by the time he was born, and she had only viewed him as a complication, as an unwanted source of competition. Because he was a boy, he automatically usurped her, stripping her of any inheritance she may have received if he had not been born, and Claudia had resented him for the fact. As soon as the doctor announced that his mother had given birth to a healthy, strapping baby boy, Claudia became irrelevant, unnecessary, and a distant memory in their father’s mind, shipped off and forgotten. She had never played board games with him, and she had never tried to look out for him as his older sister. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised Johnny if his only sibling had wished him dead upon more than one occasion. Without him in her life as an obstacle, Claudia would have had everything she ever wanted: power, the respect that came with it, and an obscene amount of wealth.  
  
Plus, there was the fact that he wasn’t sin free either that made Johnny decide that he didn’t want children. How would he ever explain to them the things he had done at the insistence of their grandfather, terrible things, things that no man, especially a parent, should ever even consider let alone carrying through on? But did them he had. Johnny Zacchara, while no Anthony Zacchara, was no boy scout either. He was damaged, dirtied, and, in his own opinion, damned. Any child of his that would be born into this world would then, automatically, inherit all of his sins, and, because of their family’s lifestyle, would inevitably end up committing his or her own as well.  
  
Johnny wasn’t naïve. While he realized that everyone sinned, that everyone was guilty of bad things, at least, once or twice in their life, he also knew that living the existence of a mobster provided far too much opportunity for further misdeeds, and one couldn’t just give up their inheritance. That simply wasn’t how the mob worked. You couldn’t walk away from your duties, you couldn’t give them away, and you couldn’t ignore them either. Too many people depended upon you, and there were too many people who would be glad to remind you of your responsibilities should you even try to escape them.  
  
However, the one little wrinkle of his life that made him shun all ideas of fatherhood the most was one particular job his father had given him several years before. Ostensibly on the surface, it had seemed benign, almost kind-hearted, but Johnny knew better than to assume such decent and honorable actions on Anthony Zacchara’s behalf. After months and months of contemplation, he was still unsure as to what exactly his father had gained from his deceptions, but he refused to ask the mobster in fear of what his dad might reveal. The one thing he did know for sure, though, was that, whatever Anthony’s motivations had been, they had been nothing but selfish and detestable, and he was guilty of the same crimes by association, so he wouldn’t ever become a father. He couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to be.  
  
“Would you stop thinking about _it_?”  
  
He should have been startled. The elder Zacchara had not made a sound as he approached him, but, after being raised by Anthony, Johnny knew how to be aware even when he wasn’t, how to be prepared even when he wanted to be anything but. And he wasn’t surprised that his father had known exactly where his mind had wandered to. He always seemed to be able to tell when the past was bothering his son. However, that didn’t stop Johnny from being irritated by how his father referred to his despicable actions on the elder man’s behalf. _It_. Nothing else, no other descriptions, but they both knew exactly what the other was referring to.  
  
Speaking again without waiting for his son to reply, Anthony admonished, “you look like a damn pedophile, watching these kids. Get up. Let’s go.” He complied, without argument, fully knowing that doing so would just be futile. No one argued with Anthony Zacchara, not if they wanted to remain breathing for long afterwards. As he turned to leave the park, their respective guards folding in to form a tight cocoon around them, the kingpin decreed, “it’s time.”  
  
And, unfortunately, Johnny knew precisely what that meant, too.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

She loved her daughter, she truly did, with all her heart. The highlight of her day was going home, tucking her little girl in, reading her a bedtime story, and kissing her goodnight. She enjoyed making Cate her breakfast, helping her brush her teeth, and surprising the four year old with tickle-fests. Just like all the other moms, Robin went around with pictures of her only child in her purse, always more than willing to share a cute anecdote or a fond memory with anyone who asked her about motherhood. Adopting her daughter was the smartest, most fulfilling decision of her life, by far surpassing medicine, but, at the same time, she enjoyed quiet moments as well, peaceful moments, moments removed from her existence as Cate’s mother where she could just focus upon herself.  
  
Robin didn’t believe this indulgence to be selfish. In fact, she felt the opposite. The doctor held firmly to the idea that parents should not only take time for themselves for their own benefit but for their kids’ as well, for such a luxury, no matter how fleeting it was, was recuperating in nature and refreshing.  
  
Maybe it was because of the fact that she lived with her energetic cousin, but, when Robin took time for herself, she didn’t like to be interrupted. Small talk made me head hurt, and, really, that was all she could engage in with anyone other than Maxie and Cate, for she still, even after several years in Paris, had yet to make any real friends. Her life consisted of work and home, and, frankly, those two things left little time for anything else. That was why she grabbed her few, precious quiet moments everyday while she was on her lunch break.  
  
Her coworkers, without being told, seemed to understand that she wanted to be left alone, and the doctor appreciated the gesture. If they needed to come into the staff on-call room, they quickly saw to their own personal needs and then left again just as unobtrusively as they had arrived in the first place. And the best thing was that no one seemed to take offense to her ‘No Small Talk During Lunch’ policy; if anything, most of the other doctors and nurses emulated the same demeanor.  
  
So, she would sit at her favorite chair at the lone table in the on-call room, the one that positioned her back towards the door and the front of her body towards the only window in the room. She would unpack her lunch, arrange it neatly, and, silently, without deviation, eat one item at a time. While she ate, Robin would either read a new medical journal or get in a few chapters of her latest novel of choice. Typically, she read mysteries, and she liked to think that particular interest she possessed was courtesy of her mother and her father who just so happened to both be world renowned spies if not the best of parents. However, it was more likely that she enjoyed the routine, procedural set-up that the genre was known for, and the fact that it was romance free was probably just an added bonus.  
  
On that particular day, she was balancing her checkbook, a chore that most people found too tedious to do when at leisure if not downright depressing, but Robin liked the rigidity of the numbers, the reassuring nature that, as long as she did everything correctly, balance and order when prevail when she finished, and that was something that could not be said about any other area of her existence. She had already consumed her turkey with provolone, lettuce, and tomato on wheat and was working her way through her baggy of washed, organic grapes when she heard the door behind her open. For several seconds she waited, listening for it to close once more, but the on-call room remained inharmoniously silent, alerting the brunette to the fact that she wasn’t alone.  
  
Moment later, a doctor, one she believed worked in oncology, came around to sit in the seat directly across from her. While he grinned, cockily, she thought to herself, she watched him, observing his mannerisms. He was attractive in a very Parisian way. His hair was worn long, wavy, and, for a brief moment, Robin felt like chastising him for his arrogance. For a man who treated cancer patients, many of whom lost their hair, he surely liked to flaunt his own. But she didn’t; she held her tongue. By bridging conversation, even if to express disapproval, she would be welcoming him to join her, and she felt anything but welcoming in that moment.  
  
His eyes were light, almost golden in color, and she found them strangely repelling. There was nothing wrong with their hue, their size, their shape, but they just seemed too unnatural to be real, and the doctor found herself wondering if they were colored contacts. Again, though, she wouldn’t ask such a question of the stranger sitting across from her. He was of medium height, no more than five foot, nine inches, with a build that spoke of many hours in the gym but little real exertion. Basically, he was a pretty boy, and Robin had never been attracted to pretty boys before, and she wasn’t about to start being so either.  
  
“I’ve seen you around,” the oncologist began. By the twinkle in his eye that wordlessly articulated of a devil-may-care attitude, she could tell that he thought his opening line to be a good one, and, when he reached across the table to help himself to one of her grapes, Robin couldn’t hold back her annoyance any longer, and she smacked his fingers away but not before he managed to smugly snatch a single piece of _her_ fruit.  
  
“Oh, feisty,” the dark haired man commented, plopping the lone grape into his mouth before chewing, swallowing suggestively, and then smiling once again.  
  
Still, Robin remained silent.  
  
Apparently, her aloofness eventually registered in the overconfident stranger’s psyche, because he addressed her more formally, leaning forward so that they were still separated by the table but, nevertheless regretfully, in the single mother’s opinion, closer. “I’m Doctor Pierre Bouchard, Oncology, and I’m already acquainted with you, Doctor Scorpio. You’re the lovely, reclusive, yet oh-so-tempting American AIDS researcher.”  
  
Finally, she spoke. “And do you want to know how I came by picking my specialty, Doctor Bouchard?” Without waiting for him to respond, Robin answered the question she herself had put forth. “I chose AIDS research, because I, myself, am HIV positive.”  
  
Normally, she didn’t broadcast her condition so loudly, so openly, but, if disclosing such a personal fact would get the obvious womanizer off her back, then so be it. Most men, even ones that she might have been interested in if given the proper amount of time to get to know them, fled quickly as soon as the revelation left her lips, and she had no doubt that the dark haired man sitting across from her would react the same way.  
  
Only he didn’t. Unfortunately. “Well, full disclosure is always appreciated, but I wasn’t suggesting that we go have a quickie together right now before you have to get back to your shift.” With a pointed glance, the other doctor clarified. “Not that I’m not interested in such an idea, especially if those grapes were involved somehow, but I am in the health care field. I know that those who are HIV positive do not have to live as monks and nuns; they can have active and quite fulfilling sex lives. And I just so happened to have recently stocked up on my condom supply, so, you see, your objection has been overruled.”  
  
If the man wanted to be stubborn, then she would just have to dig deeper into her arsenal. Smirking, Robin revealed, “I’m also a mother.”  
  
“Good,” Pierre surprised her by remarking. “I love kids. I’m the youngest of five, and all my older siblings are married. When our family gets together every Sunday for brunch, the house is just about overrun with children. I have four nephews and six nieces, one of which just happens to be a squalling, screaming infant. The colic, surely you’re aware of such a common childhood complaint. Anyway, the point of this reveal was to assure you that I’m quite prepared for anything your child… or children… could throw at me.”  
  
“Well, then, since you’re an uncle, I’m sure you realize how hectic parenthood can be. Add that to that the fact that I have a very challenging career, and it should come to no shock to you that I’m just too busy to date.”  
  
The oncologist waved off her concerns, going so far to even laugh out loud at them. “No one’s too busy to date, Robin.” Pausing momentarily, he added, “I can call you that, can’t I?”  
  
Feeling childish, and immature, and petulant, Robin stood up, tossing the remains of her uneaten lunch into the nearby trash can. “I don’t know, Pierre. _Can_ you?” Suddenly, his presence and sheer arrogance had completely eroded any appetite she may have had before his rather lame attempt to pick her up or ask her out… whatever it may have been that he was aiming for. Squaring off in front of him, her shoulders rolled back, her hands on her hips, the brunette decided to just skip the pleasantries and get right to the point. “Listen, I’m going to be frank with you. I’m not interested, you’re not my type, and that’s never going to change. So, I would appreciate it if you would just avoid speaking to me in the future unless it either concerns a patient or hospital policy.”  
  
With that, she didn’t wait to hear the other doctor’s response. Instead, she picked up her checkbook, tossed it into her purse, and then turned around on the heels of her comfortable, practical flats and strode out of the on-call room. Despite the fact that she still had ten minutes left of her lunch break, Robin forfeited the time, choosing, rather, to go back to her laboratory. Thanks to Doctor Pierre Bouchard she had not only eaten a half-assed noon-time meal, but she had also been deprived of her quiet, ‘me’ time, and that was certainly not the way to impress her.

} ~ {

Although most of her friends, family, and acquaintances believed otherwise, spring was Lila Quartermaine’s favorite season. In fact, in her opinion, there wasn’t a month more perfect than May. While it could bring temperamental thunderstorms to her upstate New York home, the family matriarch was used to quick, fiery blowups that rapidly settled into sunshine and tranquility once again. After all, her family was just the same way, and, perhaps, that was one reason why the late spring month was so dear to her.  
  
However, the main reason was because of the hope she felt during the thirty-one days of May, because of the potential that was ripe in the air and cloaking her beloved rose garden. In May, when her precious roses had yet to bloom but their buds were standing tall and proud, Lila could imagine for herself just how grand the grounds would be in just a few short weeks, the former lush greenery awash with reds, pinks, yellows, purples, and whites. And the scent… Oh, her gardens were famous in Port Charles, and their aroma could be savored for several blocks in any direction from the stately, brick Quartermaine mansion.  
  
And, as she sat in her garden that late, May morning, Lila couldn’t help but feel slightly buoyed as she glanced around her. Although she had personally quit taking care of her roses many years past, her health preventing her, as soon as the weather was bright enough, temperate enough, she would spend practically her whole days outside, lingering underneath the shade of the giant oak and maple trees that surrounded the property and occasionally allowing a beam of rejuvenating sunlight to trickle through the new, tender leaves to alight her fair, frail skin for a moment or two of warmth.  
  
Some days she would entertain guests in her garden, others she would sit quietly by herself, listening to Reginald as he read melodiously through one of her favorite novels. Anna Karenina, Wuthering Heights, Madam Bovary \- what could she say? She was a sucker for tragic romance. Other times, she would just sit and think about the various people in her life that she had lost. Whether through death or their own free will, men and women, both relatives and not, had come and gone from Lila’s life over the years, and she missed some of them quite desperately. Her garden was the perfect place to think of them, too, for, just when she would start to feel melancholy, all she had to do was glance around the spectacular sight before her, and she would feel optimistic once more.  
  
On that particular morning, she was alone, drinking tea and contemplating a letter she had just received from one of those very same, special people who were once a part of her life but were no longer other than through a brief, detached note or two every year. Elizabeth Webber had been gone from Port Charles for a little more than five years, and, still, the Quartermaine matriarch missed her exuberant smile and her mischievous, dancing indigo eyes. And, while she could admit that Elizabeth was lovely all on her own, Lila also knew that her sadness where the young woman was concerned was tied up with two rather complicated losses she had suffered at about the same time of Elizabeth’s disappearance from her life.  
  
“My dear, Cook wanted me to ask you what you wanted for dinner tonight.”  
  
Smirking, for she couldn’t help her reaction, Lila observed her husband knowingly, raising her left eyebrow just slightly in challenge. “She asked you, did she?”  
  
If nothing else, Edward Quartermaine, along with her roses, provided the elderly woman with an unwavering sense of stability. Even when they were first married, he balanced out some of her more fanciful, whimsical thoughts and desires, and, after nearly sixty years of marriage, he still did. Whether he knew it or not, Edward was her rock, because he never changed. Physically, yes, but, then again, everyone physically changed, but mentally, emotionally, he was still the same man she had married all those years before, and that was just another reason why she loved him.  
  
“Alright, no,” he admitted, frowning a bit before he sat down beside her, immediately reaching over to take one of her thin hands in his own two pudgy ones. “You know that blasted woman hates me, but I heard her talking to Reginald, and, figuring that lazy man would take his sweet time coming to ask you himself, I beat him to the chase. Someone has to see that things get done around here.”  
  
Teasing him, she asked, “despite the fact that it’s not your house but Monica’s?”  
  
“Only because that fool of a son of ours gave it to her, but don’t spoil a perfectly lovely morning, my dear, with such misfortunes. And don’t think that I didn’t see that twinkle in your eye. You knew exactly what you were doing when you brought up the ownership of this house. You were trying to distract yourself by distracting me, and I want to know why.”  
  
“If you don’t want the day spoiled, that’s not the right question to ask, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Well, now,” Edward seemed to puff out his chest, tutting under his breath. “If something is bothering you, I want to know what it is. Maybe I could help.”  
  
Giving his hands a slight squeeze, Lila wanly smiled. “There are some things even you can’t fix, dear.”  
  
“I’ll be the judge of that. Go on,” he prodded her, encouraged her. “Out with it. Tell me what’s on your mind, what this is that’s bothering you.”  
  
“Alright then,” the family matriarch agreed. Meeting her husband’s gaze, she confessed, “I received a letter from Elizabeth Webber this morning.” By Edward’s fallen expression, she could already tell that he was saddened by her announcement as well.  
  
“And tell me, how is the girl doing?”  
  
“According to Elizabeth, fine,” Lila admitted, allowing her gaze to stray from her spouse’s and out towards her gardens. “She told me of a new recipe she has mastered, of a play she just went to see, of how central park looks now that spring has finally arrived.”  
  
“But nothing truly personal about herself?”  
  
Finally showing her frustration, Lila said, “I just don’t understand what happened to her. Admittedly, the year before she left had been difficult. Her boyfriend, Lucky Spencer, died in that unfortunate garage fire, and then we all lost Emily when she died during childbirth, but she seemed alright… even after both of those tragedies. There was this life to her that just seemed too vibrant to be extinguished, but, now, when I read her letters, it’s gone.”  
  
Quietly, her husband spoke up. “You forgot one important loss, though, my dear. When that no-good hoodlum of a grandson of ours took off, leaving for god who knows where, that little girl broke. Whatever is wrong with Elizabeth Webber, I blame it on Jason… like so many other things.”  
  
“But I don’t think it’s that simple,” she protested, meeting Edward’s gaze. “I saw her, just a couple weeks before she left town. Jason had already been gone for two months at that point, but she was still smiling and full of energy. She seemed lighthearted, confident, even happy, but then she disappeared, and no one, not even Audrey Hardy, heard from her for months. When she finally did contact her grandmother, she was distant and cold. I just… I don’t understand, dear, and every time I read one of her letters, this unbelievable sense of sadness just washes over me.”  
  
“Well, that’s understandable. Despite their age difference, our Emily was best friends with Elizabeth. Those two girls were practically inseparable there for a while. And then there’s her relationship with Jason… whatever it might have been.” Losing the nostalgic note to his voice, her spouse offered, “I could look into the matter for you, hire someone to dig into Elizabeth’s past in an effort to find out exactly what happened to her.”  
  
“No, you can’t do that,” Lila dismissed his suggestion. “Whatever secrets Elizabeth is harboring, they are hers to tell. I won’t invade her privacy. If she ever wanted to confide in me, I would be honored, but I won’t break her trust by snooping into her personal life.” Knowing her husband all too well, she warned, “and you won’t do so either.”  
  
“If that is what you wish…”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“Well, in that case, I might have a piece of news that will cheer you up.”  
  
Grinning indulgently, the elderly woman regarded the man she married so many years before. “I hope you realize by now that ELQ stock prices rising do not particularly interest me.”  
  
“As a matter of fact, it did go up again, but that’s not what I was about to tell you, my dear. Rather, this piece of news isn’t about business; it’s personal.” Once he was sure that he had her undivided attention, Edward continued. “While I’m not quite sure what to make of the development, I know that you’ll be pleased to hear that Jason is back in town.”  
  
He was right. She was beyond pleased; she was delighted. “He is?”  
  
“Just got in yesterday afternoon,” Edward shared with his wife. “Of course, he’s yet to see it fit to actually deign us with his criminal presence, but I would bet my last penny that he went to see that damn scourge of the earth Corinthos already.”  
  
Patting her husband’s hand, Lila attempted to placate him. “Calm down, dear. Getting so excited isn’t good for your heart, and Jason will come to see us when he can. He always does.”  
  
“No, you mean he’ll come to see you.”  
  
“And, when he does, I’ll tell you all about it,” she reassured the man she loved.  
  
Rising from his chair, Edward bent over slightly to press a kiss to her cheek before moving towards the patio doors that would take him back into the den. “Well, I need to get to the office, but make sure you talk to Cook. I don’t want her serving liver and onions again like she did last night.”  
  
As he moved away from where she was seated, Lila could still hear the family patriarch complaining to himself about their staff, but she just smiled once more, perfectly used to her husband’s antics and behavior and not wishing to change him in the slightest. Instead, her mind went back to the letter she had just read that morning, and, like so many other times in the past, she found herself wondering what exactly it was that had finally broken Elizabeth Webber’s spirit; what could possibly be worse than abandonment by one’s family, the loss of a first love, and the death of a best friend, and, when the answer alluded her as it always did, she remained just as puzzled as she had been for years.

} ~ {

Just when things were starting to look pretty grim for Carly Quartermaine Corinthos, her luck shifted once again. Despite the fact that she was divorced from both her previous husbands, she had kept their names and permanently replaced her own middle and surname with them. After all, how many women could claim a connection to both the most influential and respected family in town and to one of the most powerful gangsters on the eastern seaboard? Not many. In fact, she was quiet sure she was the only one.  
  
But she was also a multiple divorcee with a young child. When Sonny had shoved her out of his life the last time, she had believed the break in their relationship to be just temporary, much like the others. So, she eventually signed the divorce papers, took her hefty settlement, and proceeded to blow the money on designer clothes, an expensive house, and a few timeless pieces of jewelry that she just couldn’t pass up. But then Sonny didn’t come crawling back to her, and she realized, belatedly, that the Cuban might actually be willing to stick to his guns when it came to their separation.  
  
To make matters worse, he then went and knocked up his attorney. She had always mistrusted Alexis and what others considered her odd little quirks but what Carly saw to be her inept way of flirting with _her_ husband. Maybe her inner Spencer was showing and her hatred of the Cassadine bastard was just ingrained into her, but the bottled blonde was pretty sure that her wrath had more to do with the fact that Alexis had taken her place in Sonny’s world while, all the while, keeping her own niche carved out as well.  
  
Now, not only was the lawyer indispensible to Sonny because she was able to get him out of trouble, but she also warmed his bed and provided him with someone to bicker with. While Sonny had remained close with Michael, Alexis was now providing her ex with a child of his own blood. As soon as the brat arrived, Carly knew that her own son would be the very last thing on Sonny Corinthos’ mind, and then where would she be? Broke, lonely, and without any power over the mob boss, she would be a nothing again, and she had worked too damn hard and had sacrificed too damn much to allow herself to slide backwards, once more, into obscurity.  
  
But that’s when the best possible news had reached her doorstep, quite literally. She had been just about to leave for a little shopping excursion that morning, despite the fact that her credit cards were almost entirely maxed out, when she overheard her guard talking to Michael’s about someone’s return to town. Nate, her own guard, was a fairly new yet quickly advancing recruit in the organization, but Michael’s guard, Paulie, had been with Sonny for years, well before Jason Morgan and, in all likelihood, well after as well, so, when she heard her son’s personal security expert explaining to Nate just who exactly Jason Morgan was and why his return to Port Charles was so significant, Carly had felt like she had literally won the lottery.  
  
Just when she thought things in her life couldn’t get much worse, the one man who had always been there for her when it truly mattered came strolling back into her life, proving just how perfect his timing really was. And it was just that. She was currently unattached, Sonny was distracted by the impending arrival of his first biological child, and Jason, no doubt, still missed the only little boy he had ever considered his own son. Plus, Michael missed his Uncle Jason. Every night before he went to bed, Carly made sure that she told her little boy all about the blonde haired, blue eyed enforcer who had done so much for the both of them in the past, and, with just a little time spent together, she knew that both Jason and Michael could fall in love with each other again. It would be perfect. She had everything all planned out. All she needed to do was find Jason, and, knowing him as well as she did, the single mother had no doubt she would be successful in doing so.  
  
Strolling into Jake’s that night, she was dressed to impress just one man. Now, if her clothes just so happened to catch some other person’s eyes, who was she to argue with such flattery, especially if the stranger’s attention spurred Jason’s own desire and jealousy? Her heels were dangerously high, her skirt tauntingly short, and her shirt was a little too tight and too small to be considered proper for anywhere but a seedy saloon, and, as she sauntered up to the bar where the establishment’s owner was watching her warily, Carly could feel every pair of eyes in the room trained directly on her backside. It was a good feeling.  
  
She could tell that Jake was about to speak, probably to ask her what kind of drink she wanted, but the bottled blonde beat her to the chase. “Where’s Jason,” she demanded to know, glancing pointedly around the smoke filled, loud, boisterous room.  
  
Just as succinctly, the bartender replied, “not here.”  
  
“What do you mean? Of course, he’s here. Jason always stays here when he’s first back in town.”  
  
“Haven’t seen him,” the proprietor offered. Hearing the tone of the other woman’s voice, Carly could tell that she was already fed up with the questions and her presence.  
  
Narrowing her gaze, she observed her opponent warily. “You’ve never liked me, Jake, even when I was one of your best customers. Why is that?”  
  
“Just because my bar is lacking in class doesn’t mean I am, too.”  
  
That was it; that was all the older female offered in explanation, and Carly snapped, “you’re probably just lying, because you don’t want me to see Jason. When he finds out you’re doing this…”  
  
Her threat was left open ended, because, in that moment, Jake tossed her a set of old, silver keys. “Go.” The bartender nodded towards the back of the dive, indicating the stairs that would take someone to the second floor. “Go take a look for yourself, and, when you’re finished after seeing for yourself that Jason isn’t here, don’t let the door hit you on the way out. I just gave this place a good scrub a week ago, and I don’t need you dirtying it up all over again.”  
  
Calling the woman’s bluff, the single mother wrenched the keys from her hand and practically sprinted up the stairs. She was positive that Jake had been lying, attempting to swindle her into believing that Jason wasn’t actually staying at the bar, but Carly was a con artist herself, and no one played her for a fool, especially not some middle-aged bartender. But, after searching all six rooms, she realized that Jake had been telling the truth, that the hitman really wasn’t staying at the seedy dive. Furious and feeling humiliated, she left the ring of keys on the bed in the last room she searched, slipping down the stairs and out the back door without detection.  
  
While Jason Morgan might be able to run from his past, he wouldn’t be able to hide. Wherever he was, she would find him, and, when she did, everything would be perfect once again.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

For years, Johnny had been aware of the deal that existed between his father and Sonny Corinthos. In exchange for some favor, a favor he knew nothing of and preferred to keep it that way, Sonny had agreed to allow his partner and enforcer, Jason Morgan, to train the Zacchara heir in order to prepare him to take over his father’s business. However, despite the union that had been in place between their two organizations for more than half a decade, Johnny had never met the somewhat volatile yet charming Cuban, and he was not looking forward to their formal introduction.  
  
What he knew of the other man he had learned through research. In today’s day and age, it wasn’t so hard to learn of the intimate dealings of your allies… or your enemies. All one had to do was be fairly competent with a computer and a whole fountain of information was practically laid at one’s feet. Not even professional criminals could escape the spotlight of the media, and, from the bevy of articles he had found on Sonny Corinthos, Johnny knew the other man had not been shy in either his personal or his professional life.  
  
However, Jason Morgan was a separate story all together. The younger man was reclusive and had been missing from Port Charles for quite some time. In fact, there was absolutely no evidence that he had even been in the United States during the past five years, and the Zacchara heir found himself feeling slightly envious of the hitman’s freedom to travel and see the world. Whenever he had toured Europe, his father had been at his side, and, even if he wanted to take another trip, perhaps this time to a more exotic location, Anthony would insist that he take a whole contingent of guards with him. Paris or Paraguay, with several burly security experts, no one would be able to blend in and disappear.  
  
Although he wouldn’t admit it, Johnny was anxious about their impending meeting. While he wasn’t so worried about Corinthos, for it was obvious that the man behind the curtain at Corinthos and Morgan was the real wizard of their organization, he did have reservations about the Cuban’s enforcer. Jason Morgan was world renowned at being the best in the business at what he did. He was smart, efficient, unsentimental, and practically flawless. With a steady trigger finger and an even steadier mind, Johnny could understand why his father wanted him to study under the enforcer.  
  
Whether he wanted the family business or not, it was his, and the reality of the situation was that, if he didn’t run it, someone else would, and that someone else might not be as tolerant or as level-headed as he believed himself to be. Basically, the Zacchara heir had realized that he was better off with the evil he already knew than one he was unfamiliar with, so, if he was going to eventually become the next mob boss of his father’s organization, he was going to do so with as much knowledge and talent as he possibly could, and Jason Morgan could help him with that goal. So, not only was he slightly uneasy about meeting the famed trained gun, but he was also slightly eager as well.  
  
While the entire situation could very well be a set-up with Corinthos wanting to initiate a power struggle, Johnny didn’t think that Morgan would allow such an outright show of disrespect. Sonny Corinthos might be a loose cannon, but his enforcer played by the rules. He wouldn’t allow his partner to stroll into the Zacchara home when he was invited for a peaceful meeting and orchestrate a hostile takeover, assassinating both Johnny and his father in their own music room. At the same time, with so many strong, independent, and powerful personalities in the same room at the same time, anything could happen.  
  
To curb his own apprehension, the younger man sat perched at the family’s piano. Although Anthony did not like the fact that his son played the instrument and played it so well, the Steinway had been a wedding present from the elder Zacchara to his second bride, Johnny’s mother, and that sentimental value alone prevented Anthony from destroying the piano. As he played through the second part of Ravel’s _Gaspard de la Nuit_ , a fitting piece Johnny felt for the mood that permeated the air that evening, he glanced over at his father and found him silently arranging roses into an intricate, exquisite bouquet. Just as playing the piano calmed him, Anthony Zacchara’s roses offered the older man a sense of peace and serenity.  
  
If he didn’t know any better, the brunette heir would have been struck by the simplicity of the moment he shared with his only remaining parent, with the beauty, with the normalcy. To any outside observer, they would have seemed like the classical, educated father and son pair, lost in their own pleasing hobbies and oblivious to the rest of the world. The realization struck Johnny forcefully, making him skip a note to a piece he had memorized long ago, and it made him envious, once more, of those families who did routinely experience such quiet, harmonious evenings at home.  
  
What he wouldn’t give to go to work from nine to five every day as a doctor, or a lawyer, or an accountant, and then come home to have dinner and rewind with an hour or two spent playing the piano. But such companionable silences were a luxury in the Zacchara household, and, though Johnny could play the piano when he was at his own place in the city, it never felt as right as that particular moment did. Perhaps it was too lonely at his penthouse apartment, or maybe it was the sheer fact that such liberties there were welcome and acceptable and not granted that made them feel so ordinary and mundane.  
  
Before he could nail down an answer to his quandary, Sonny Corinthos was shown into the room, and all previous endeavors ceased. Assuredly and without invitation, the dark-complexioned man made himself at home in the Zacchara music room, striding across the vast space to pour himself a drink before choosing Johnny’s father’s own chair to sit down upon. But Anthony never said anything, apparently prepared to make concessions towards the cocky Cuban, and he joined his father in front of the fireplace, preferring to remain standing beside the mantel as the elder Zacchara took a seat adjacent to the visiting mob boss on another, less comfortable chair.  
  
Sonny was the first to speak. “I hope you will excuse my partner. Although when I made the arrangements for this meeting with you I had every intention of him accompanying me, I’m afraid that Jason is still getting resettled into town. You see, he just arrived back in Port Charles yesterday morning.”  
  
“Cutting your deadline pretty close there, Corinthos,” Anthony commented, neither showing disapproval nor anger. “You must be pretty confident in your enforcer agreeing to the terms of our conditions.”  
  
“Jason will do what I want him to.”  
  
“Is that so,” the Zacchara crime boss mused. “And here I thought that the two of you were amigos. I didn’t realize he was just another one of your lap dogs. Maybe he isn’t the right man for this job. Maybe, if he rolls over so easily for you, Corinthos, I don’t want him to be the one to teach my son the ropes of this business. Maybe I should end our agreement right here and right now and seek my own payment for the favor I bestowed upon you all those years ago.”  
  
Snapping pettily, the Cuban shouted, “I wouldn’t recommend such an idea. We had a deal, and I will live up to my end of it.”  
  
“Yeah, but the question now is will Morgan, and, if he does, is he the man you presented him to be?”  
  
“As you said, Jason is not only my business partner, but he is also my friend, and it’s because of this fact,” Sonny Corinthos explained, “that he will do this for me. While he won’t like it, he’ll consider it a personal favor, and he’s never once turned me down before. As for your concerns towards whether or not Jason is the man you want to train your son…” The opposing mobster’s voice faded, and he smiled crookedly. “Anthony, I think we both know that was a bluff. There’s no one better than Jason Morgan, and he’s _my_ enforcer. If you want his help, if you want my help, I would start to tow the line a little better if I were you.” Standing up, the younger mob boss placed his glass down harshly on the table beside his wing backed chair. “Do not threaten me, Anthony,” Sonny warned, “because you won’t like the consequences.”  
  
With that, he strolled out of the music room, leaving without permission just as he had entered. “Well, well, well, looks like somebody has a few buttons he doesn’t like pressed.” Smirking wickedly, Anthony stood and observed his son. “Still, I think it’s important that we secure Mr. Morgan’s cooperation on our own, free of Mr. Corinthos’ lofty and ultimately delusional assurances.” Approaching Johnny, the heir’s father patted his son’s cheek roughly. “Lucky you for, my boy, I have just the thing to keep Morgan practically panting after us, catering to our every whim.”  
  
The don disappeared amidst a cacophony of cackles, his amusement remaining behind him longer after his physical form had already left the room. Suddenly, Johnny was no longer nervous about his impending association with the notorious hitman; rather, he was petrified of what secret ace his father had hidden up his sleeve, and, for some reason, he had the uneasy suspicion Anthony’s means of controlling Jason Morgan had everything to do with his own guilt and sins from four and half years earlier. How everything was all connected, though, he wasn’t sure, but he was definitely going to find out.

} ~ {

Nadine’s world felt completely off kilter. It was like she was perpetually stuck on the launch to Spoon Island during a storm but with no land in sight. It made her feel queasy, unsettled, and neither experience was at all pleasant. To make matters worse, not only had her own life recently been turned upside down, but, now, she was also interfering with her little brother’s as well.  
  
Since the day she had returned from her honeymoon, the petite blonde’s life had revolved around her husband. She organized her schedule to coincide with Nikolas’, canceling her own plans to see to her spouse’s needs. They ate their meals when Nikolas was either hungry or when he could squeeze in a few moments for sustenance, they went to bed when he was tired, and they got up when he became awake. They went to the restaurants he liked, saw only the movies he wanted to see, and they socialized with the people he approved of and no one else.  
  
When she wasn’t seeing to her husband’s needs, she took care of their children. The one concession Nadine had demanded from the prince was that their kids would not be raised by nannies. While she wouldn’t object to private tutors when both Spencer and Laura became of age, no one else would feed their children, bathe their children, or read to them their bedtime stories. And, oddly enough, for a few years, the nurse had been content living that life, not happy but content. If she focused all her energy and love upon the kids, then she could forget about how unhappy she was in her marriage, and it wasn’t until Nikolas demanded a divorce that true realization of just how lonely and depressed she was crashed down upon the young woman.  
  
Being back to work full time helped. Although it had only been a month, Nadine was already making friends, but she found that the majority of them were older than she was. Their kids were grown and gone, so, despite the fact that they could give her parenting advice, they could no longer sympathize with her trivial plights. Several of her fellow nurses were divorcées themselves, so that provided her with a venting outlet. Some had moved on and remarried, while others remained single, satisfied with just being free of their former spouses and in no hurry to saddle themselves with another husband anytime soon.  
  
And she had Laura, too. Of anyone, her four year old daughter would be able to keep Nadine sane during her divorce proceedings, not because the soon-to-be single mother could lean upon her little girl but because she knew that her daughter needed her to be there no matter what. To Laura, it didn’t matter whether or not her mommy was sad; she still deserved Nadine’s full attention and care, and, although taking care of Laura would remind the blonde nurse that she didn’t have her son with her, she also knew it was better to have one of her children than neither of them.  
  
At first, she had considered leaning upon her brother, and she had run directly to him the day before, literally crying upon his shoulder when the reality of her situation came crashing down upon her. For some insipid reason, Nadine had believed that her husband would be a gentleman during their divorce, that he would put aside their personal differences to do what was best for the kids, but she should have known better. Spencer was his last connection to Emily and his future heir, and, if nothing else had been impressed upon her spouse by his uncle, the idea of continuing the Cassadine family legacy had been. No, their separation was going to get messy, and Damien, this time, would not be able to clean it up for her. She wouldn’t allow him to.  
  
He had a life of his own to lead. Between his classes at PCU, his work for Miss Miller, and any social life he might have, Damien had a full plate, and she wasn’t about to foist her own mistakes upon him. She had married Nikolas, she had made the decision to not only be Spencer’s stepmother but to also adopt a daughter with the prince, and she was the one getting a divorce. While she would have done anything to have her Aunt Rayleen still alive and standing beside her while her husband left her, such futile hopes were just a waste of breath and time.  
  
So, that’s why she was here, seated at a small, round table inside of Kelly’s diner, waiting for her brother to meet her for a late dinner, and skipping yet another black tie hospital function. After getting off of work and picking up Laura from daycare, she had called the young computer hacker, requesting his presence at the family eatery. Not only did she want to apologize for losing her control the night before and to make sure that he was alright after pulling practically an all-nighter, but she also thought it was important to start living a normal life. She was getting a divorce; she didn’t have the plague. Thousands of people got divorced every month, maybe even every week. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, and it was time for her and her daughter to quit hiding out in their apartment. The first step to doing so was a nice, quiet family dinner out on the town… or, at least, a partial one.  
  
Nadine smiled as she witnessed her brother come scurrying into the dockside establishment, his small person a bundle of barely restrained energy. She should have known that a lack of sleep wouldn’t stop him from being his usual, full of life self. Plus, he was a college student, and college students were used to such erratic sleeping habits. While it had been a few years for the petite nurse, she had been a college student once herself, and she knew exactly what trials and tribulations all college students put their bodies through.  
  
“Greetings and salutations, dear sister,” Damien practically gushed as he fell into the chair opposite to where she herself was sitting. “I trust that The Jackal has not kept you waiting long.” Turning towards his only niece, her brother playfully ruffled the little girl’s hair. “Hey, squirt.”  
  
As only a prim and proper future princess would, Laura gently placed her napkin in her lap before returning her uncle’s welcome. “Good evening, Uncle Damien,” and her seriousness made the young man laugh heartily.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Nadine reassured him. “We just got here ourselves.”  
  
“Excellent,” Spinelli replied. “And how was your day, antiseptic and alleviating?”  
  
To answer him, the soon-to-be divorcée said, “tedious and tiring.” To clarify, she continued, “I was late getting into the hospital this morning, so, for punishment, Epiphany made me work on paperwork all day. What about you? I hope you know that I really am sorry that I kept you up so late last night.”  
  
“Do not worry your pretty, blonde head about The Jackal for a moment more. I was fine, a bit rusty this morning, but, as soon as I indulged in an orange soda or two, I was back to my habitually productive self. Miss Miller had no complaints about her grasshopper’s efficiency this beautiful, spring day.”  
  
Grinning, Nadine rolled her eyes at her brother’s verbose ways. “That’s good to hear, Damien.”  
  
“A sentiment I cannot extend to the fact that you continue to insist upon using my dreaded, most reviled first name.”  
  
Just then, their waitress came up, taking both their drink and meal orders. Because all three of them, Nadine, Spinelli, and Laura, frequented the small diner quite often, they knew the menu, what they liked, and what they disliked on it without even having to glance at the laminated, folded sheets of paper, so they didn’t need time to deliberate. Once alone again, both of the siblings went to talk first with the nurse bowing out and relinquishing the moment to her brother.  
  
“So, I have news of a positive origin from Miss Miller.”  
  
“Oh,” the mother asked, sounding somewhat distracted. Damien often spoke of his employer, and, though the two of them got along quite famously for two individuals so utterly dissimilar, there was little that Nadine found herself either agreeing with or having in common with the respected if not slightly disconcerting attorney.  
  
“Although she herself does not practice family law, nor does she have a spare moment currently on her calendar, she has agreed to look into finding you the best legal mind available, second only in arbitration skills to herself.”  
  
Puzzled, the petite blonde asked, “for what?”  
  
“Why, for your divorce proceedings, of course,” the young computer hacker persisted. “Last night, you told me of The Pompous Prince’s outrageous demands and decrees, and I was most distressed. So, this morning, I sought the always informative advice of my formidable employer, and she said that it was of absolute necessity that you seek your own legal counsel. The Cadbury Bunny simply won’t do.”  
  
Snapping, Nadine hissed, “his name is Mr. Elsberry.” Upon seeing her brother’s hurt expression, she softened her voice and apologized. “I’m sorry, Damien. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”  
  
“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed, “but The Jackal also understands that you are under an unmerited amount of stress at the moment, and I would rather you take said stress out upon me than upon La Petit Princess Squirt.”  
  
“Well, I disagree. I just need to learn to push down my anger. After all, you’re not the one that I’m mad at.”  
  
“Perhaps I may suggest an alternative proposal,” Spinelli contended. “It is not healthy to ignore one’s feelings, and Miss Miller often speaks fondly of her yoga classes. She claims that they both cleanse her of her ire and limber her appendages for better…” His words trailed off as his glance zeroed in on a very aptly interested Laura. Swallowing thickly, the computer genius simply concluded his previous statement with, “flexibility.”  
  
Nadine laughed, though, and it was a pleasant sound, shattering through the tension that had previously been shrouding the three diners. “As for seeking separate legal counsel, I really just don’t want to irritate Nikolas any further.”  
  
“Ah,” her brother commented, bowing his head gracefully as if conceding a point. “I do believe you are referencing the wise, old proverb concerning a temperamental tiger and a vertically challenged prodding device. As you see, I, too, have not yet forgotten our astute Aunt Rayleen’s teachings. Not that such a thing would even be possible. She drilled those adages into our…”  
  
The hacker’s words were cut off and drowned out by a fervent, emotional little boy screaming and hurtling himself across the room and into his stepmother’s arms. “Mommy Nadine,” Spencer enthused, his little arms wrapping tightly around the nurse’s neck.  
  
Before the blonde could reply, though, an unfamiliar voice spoke up as the stranger who owned it uncurled the little prince’s arms. “Come, Master Cassadine. It’s time to leave.”  
  
“But we just got here,” the five year old protested. “I’m hungry, and you said I could have chicken fingers since I was a good boy today. Plus, Mommy’s here, and Laura, and even Uncle Spin.”  
  
“High five for the kid who didn’t call me by my insufferable moniker,” Spinelli offered, holding his hand up for his nephew. The gesture was not returned.  
  
“I’m sorry, Spencer,” the woman who was obviously his newly hired nanny explained, “but your father gave me direct orders. You are to have absolutely no contact with Miss Crowell.”  
  
“You know, not that the name is anything I am particularly fond of, but I am still Mrs. Cassadine, you know, and Spencer is my son,” Nadine defended. “I really don’t see how it’s any of your business to keep me from him or how Nikolas has the power to tell you to do so.”  
  
“Mr. Cassadine is my employer, and, according to him, the deceased Mrs. Emily Cassadine is Spencer’s mother, not you. I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have orders to call the police if you make a scene, and, frankly, I don’t think such a thing would be appropriate for either of the children to see.”  
  
“No, I agree.” Hopefully, the young mother asked, “can I just hug him goodbye?”  
  
Not completely cruel but, at the same time, not helpful either, the older woman denied her request. “Perhaps another time,” the nanny offered. With that, the two of them disappeared, Spencer fighting his caregiver every step of the way as he struggled, and squirmed, and called out for his mom. By the time they disappeared from the diner, everyone’s eyes were on a crying Nadine, and most of them had tears of their own illuminating their various gazes.  
  
Politely ignoring them, the soon-to-be divorcée retook her seat, refolded her napkin across her lap, and met her only sibling’s concerned and gentle expression. “I’ve changed my mind. Please, tell Miss Miller that I will appreciate any help she can give me, and the sooner she can provide me with a competent divorce lawyer’s name the better. If Nikolas wants this separation to get ugly, he has no idea how dirty I can be. This is war.”

} ~ {

Alan Quartermaine had been to so many hospital functions that, really, they no longer held any excitement or surprise for him. Dinner, bazaars, charity benefits, they were all just a colorful blur where too many pompous speeches were given (he himself was guilty of a few of those) and too many toasts were offered. Sure, as chief of staff of General Hospital, he realized why such events were important and why his presence at them was required, but they contained no hidden thrills. If he could get away with it, he would sleep through them, but Monica would be embarrassed, and his mother would be appalled, so Alan continued to be the dutiful husband and son, smiling for all but saying very little.  
  
The one highlight to such events was the meals. Prime rib, chicken cordon bleu, roast beef, shrimp cocktail, rack of lamb, stuffed sole… whatever the meat, he liked it. Fresh and tender, the hospital board, thanks to Nikolas Cassadine, knew how to satisfy a hungry man. The salads were always made of the crispest greens, the little, round potatoes were always seasoned to perfection, and the rolls could melt in a man’s mouth. And the dessert… it rivaled sex… with crazy Lucy Coe.  
  
His fingers were sticky with butter, and he was positive that he had spilled some sauce from his broccoli onto his tie earlier, but Alan didn’t really care. Audrey Hardy was up on the stage, awarding one of his nurses with the RN of the year award, but he was too busy feasting on his Cornish hen to really pay attention. It wasn’t until his pain in the butt wife… whom he loved dearly… elbowed him in the side that he even lifted his face from his plate.  
  
“What,” he whispered, his annoyance at being interrupted evident but completely ignored by Monica.  
  
“Look around this room,” she directed him, and he obliged her sullenly. “Don’t you notice something off… something that upsets you?”  
  
“Well, it’s obvious you have,” Alan commented when he noticed nothing unusual. “You haven’t even touched your salad, and, normally, you’re all about the rabbit food.”  
  
Delivering daggers in his direction, the cardiologist returned, “someone in this marriage has to. If you’re not careful, Georgie Porgy, in a few years, they’ll have to roll you down the hospital hallways, and they’ll have to use the service elevator to get you from floor to floor.”  
  
“They,” he repeated rhetorically. “And where will you be, dear wife?”  
  
“I’ll be with a much younger, much more attractive, fit doctor, thank you very much,” Monica retorted. “So, stop eating for seven already. You’re not carrying sextuplets for crying out loud.”  
  
“Why you… I should divorce you, you no good, cheating…”  
  
The chief of staff’s rant was cut off by another physician sitting at their table leaning over and quite comically shushing the bickering couple. Contritely, they both ended their more so playful than heated argument. Showing his spouse his remorse, Alan scooted his chair closer to hers, leaned down, and queried, “now, what is it about this room that has you so upset?”  
  
“There are five staff members in all of General Hospital under the age of 35.” When he went to protest, she prevented him from doing so by holding up a surgically strong hand. “No, don’t squabble with me, because I counted,” the cardiologist interjected. “And there are only four medical employees between the ages of 35 and 44. We’re practically dinosaurs… all of us. This can’t be good for the hospital’s reputation.”  
  
“No, it isn’t,” Alan consented, “but how did we let this happen? How didn’t I notice this before?”  
  
She shrugged. “Maybe because we’re used to it, I don’t know.” After several moments of silence, the silver hued blonde remarked, “or perhaps we did this on purpose.” Before he could ask her what she meant by such a statement, Monica pressed on, ignoring the irritated glances from their colleagues. “Even before Emily died, it was hard for the both of us to see young, intelligent doctors around the hospital, and it was even harder working with them. It didn’t matter how different they were from Jason, there was always something that reminded us of the son that we lost, the son that was determined to become the next great Quartermaine physician. Be it their tone of voice, their compassion for their patients, or even their choice of cologne, Jason was in each and every one of them.”  
  
Picking up the reigns of her thought, the chief of staff continued, “and, then, when Emily passed away, we started to do the same thing with all the young, female staff. When it came time to renegotiate their contracts, I’d unconsciously lowball them, and, when I’d have to rehire someone to replace a leaving staff member, I’d inevitably hire someone too old to remind me of the children we lost.” Sighing heavily, the aging doctor took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his noise, and wearily asked, “what have we done?”  
  
When he felt his wife’s petite, soft hand slip into one of his own, Alan squeezed like she was his physical lifeline. “Nothing that can’t be undone,” Monica reassured him, “nothing that can’t be fixed. Now that we’ve recognized the problem, you’ll bring in some new, talented, young blood to the hospital, and I’ll help you. I’ll do everything I can to help you, I promise.”  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered sincerely, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles sweetly. Then, wagging his eyebrows, he teased, “now, what do you say we sneak out of here early?”  
  
Removing her hand from his own, his spouse patted his shoulder like a parent would pat a wayward child before turning back to the stage where Audrey was just calling up the latest recipient of the RN of the Year to accept their award. Out of the corner of her mouth, she instructed him, “eat your dinner, Alan,” making him laugh out loud. The noise drew several curious glances from around the room.  
  
But the chief of staff didn’t mind. For the first time in years, he felt lighter, more relaxed, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. While he would never be completely over the loss of two of his children, it felt as though he might have just stopped grieving. Life had a funny way of moving on when someone wasn’t watching, and, when it did, it would leave that oblivious person behind. Now, he had to play catch up, but, for the first time in years, that was a game he was looking forward to.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

“I didn’t catch you too late, did I? You’re not off to bed one hundred virgins or to woo some landed, titled piece of Euro trash, are you?”  
  
Smiling contentedly, for it was always good to hear the sound of his best friend’s voice… even if she was pretty much accusing him of being a cad, Jasper Jax leaned back heavily in his rich, leather desk chair, propped his feet up on the table before him, and relaxed for a good, long catching up session. “You sensationalize my life too much, I’m afraid. My evening plans are nothing near as exciting as what you had in mind. I’m stuck at the office for several more hours.”  
  
“Aw, a _personal_ guided tour,” Alexis suggested knowingly.  
  
“Try an important business meeting.” Just for good measure, the international playboy added, “with a stodgy, overweight, and completely unattractive older gentleman.”  
  
“Well, you always did have unusual tastes,” the attorney pointed out. “After all, you did marry me.”  
  
“And, still to date, you are my very favorite ex-wife,” Jax complimented. “Now, that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.”  
  
“What’s there to tell? I’m fat.”  
  
“I do believe the politically correct term would be pregnant,” he argued.  
  
“Semantics.” Despite the fact that they were separated by an entire ocean and five time zones, the corporate raider could imagine his best friend waving a thin hand dismissively in the air. “Let’s cut to the chase.”  
  
“Really? Why? Is the baby draining you?”  
  
“It’s noon here, Jax,” she responded, “and I’m not an invalid. No, actually, we’re going to have to make the conversation quick, because I’m not sure how long it’ll take my warden to make me lunch.”  
  
“Ah, cooking,” Jax sighed. “You must be referring to Corinthos.”  
  
“Yes, I am, and save the disappointed speeches for another call, alright,” the lawyer beseeched him. “I’m learning more and more everyday just how big of a mistake I made crawling into bed with Sonny.”  
  
“And then marrying him, too,” the Australian pointed out, attempting to sound helpful but just coming off as being sardonic.  
  
“Well, aren’t you just accommodating?”  
  
“I try.”  
  
“If that’s the same mouth you use to woo all those lovely Italian girls with, no wonder I was the one who ended up in holy matrimonial hell again first.”  
  
Attempting to placate the pregnant woman, the playboy offered, “I know, and I’m sorry.”  
  
“You’re not, and that’s okay, because I’m going to accept your apology anyway.”  
  
“You’re a doll, Alexis,” he complimented.  
  
“No, I’m just an easy mark when it comes to my favorite ex-husband.” Changing the subject, the illegitimate Cassadine asked, “so, what news do you have for me from Europe?”  
  
“Nothing much. My life currently revolves around my work.”  
  
“Aw, I’m jealous,” the attorney pouted over the phone. “So, no illicit affairs, no scandalous gossip, not even a harshly fought for corporate takeover to share with a lonely, bored, beached sea cow?”  
  
Ignoring her derogatory comments about herself, for Jax knew that was just Alexis’ strange sense of humor, he answered, “I’m afraid not. I think Italy has tamed me.”  
  
“Impossible,” his best friend remarked.  
  
“However, I did see Robin a few weeks ago.”  
  
“Scorpio?”  
  
“The one and only,” the blonde asserted. “I was in Paris for a few days, and just who do you think ended up standing in front of me one morning when I went for my coffee and croissant?”  
  
“So, a small world, eh?”  
  
“Very, apparently,” Jax remarked, chuckling softly.  
  
“So, how is she doing?”  
  
“Wonderfully well,” he replied. “France seems to agree with her. She loves her work, she’s happy, and she showed me pictures of her daughter. Alexis, I have to tell you, that little girl is adorable. Cate’s going to be a real knockout when she gets older.”  
  
“Completely and totally edible, huh,” his friend suggested.  
  
“I told Robin to make sure that Cate knows I’m going to be the first in line to dance with her at her coming out party.”  
  
“People still have those,” Alexis asked.  
  
“No, but I’ll make sure that Robin’s only child does.”  
  
“Well, I guess the real question becomes this,” the attorney suggested. “Was Cate adorable enough to make you want to settle down again yourself and endeavor to create a child that’s even more spectacularly good looking?”  
  
“Oh, god no,” Jax exclaimed. “I have every intention of remaining the former Mr. Jasper Davis for the rest of my life. You, dear ex-wife of mine, spoiled me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remarry again.”  
  
“I wish all of us would have been so sensible.”  
  
“So, life with Maxwell House isn’t everything you wanted it to be?”  
  
“You know,” the lawyer finally broke down and started to talk about herself. “I married Sonny to appease him, to get him off my back. He didn’t want our child being born out of wedlock, and, when I considered my own parentage, I could understand where he was coming from. But I made it a point to drill it into his head that, just because we combined tax returns, that did not make us husband and wife in every other sense of the union. I’ve retained my own penthouse, but, now, he insists upon spending more time here than at his own place. And he hovers!”  
  
He couldn’t help himself; the Australian business tycoon laughed. “Well, you are carrying his child, and, while Corinthos and I might disagree on just about everything else, I must admit that I would probably be hovering over you just as much if not more if you were pregnant with my kid. Just enjoy it,” he suggested. “Take advantage of it. Make him rub your feet, fetch you cup after cup of green tea, and then, when your hormones get the best of you, take your animosity out on him. He’s a mobster, so I’m sure he’s thick skinned enough to handle a woman’s wrath… even a Cassadine woman’s wrath.”  
  
“Very funny, Jax.”  
  
“No, seriously,” the playboy implored. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Besides fat?”  
  
“Yes, Alexis,” he humored her, “besides fat.”  
  
“Bloated, portly, and corpulent,” she responded. “You do not even want to know how many bags of popcorn I’ve gone through during these past few months.”  
  
“Alright, if you’re going to be difficult, I guess I’ll have to treat you like the child you are.”  
  
“You know, with a mouth like that, it really does shock me that you’re still single,” his best friend taunted him.  
  
Instead of dignifying her jab with a retort, he queried, “are you still getting sick?”  
  
“No, luckily,” the attorney rejoined, “the incessant vomiting has ceased. Hence, the unbelievable amount of weight gain I’ve recently experienced. Oh, the joys of impending motherhood.”  
  
“How are your feet?”  
  
“Horribly swollen and disfigured,” she answered. “They’re the equivalent to Quasimodo’s face.”  
  
“Oh,” Jax teased. “Sexy.”  
  
Returning his joshing, Alexis remarked, “Sonny thinks so.”  
  
“Please, dear ex-wife of mine, remember that I have an important meeting coming up that I can’t be sick for.” After he listened to the soon-to-be mother laugh for several moments, the billionaire questioned, “and your back? On a scale from one to ten, how sore is it?”  
  
“Under normal circumstances, I would have said a fourteen, but I just watched a tape of natural birth last week, so I have a new appreciation for pain. In retrospect, it’s probably a two.”  
  
Now, it was his turn to chuckle. “I take it we’re looking forward to labor and delivery?”  
  
Retorting smartly, she responded just as there was a knock at his office door, “about as much as a man looks forward to castration… without anesthetic.”  
  
“Well, with that all together pleasant thought, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our conversation off.”  
  
“Wimp,” Alexis accused.  
  
“Actually, no,” he offered in way of a defense. “There’s actually someone who needs to speak with me.”  
  
“Alright, busy man with too demanding of a life to make time for his best friend. I’m off. Same day and time next week?”  
  
“I’ll be waiting for your call on tenterhooks,” Jax promised. With that, the ex-married couple both hung up, and he called out for his associate to enter. “It’s open.”  
  
When the hand behind the knock was revealed, it was shown to belong to one of his most promising junior executives. “Claudia,” the tycoon greeted warmly. “What can I help you with?”  
  
“Actually, I was hoping that I could offer my assistance to you,” the dark haired VP proposed. “How would you like to have someone ride shotgun for you during this meeting?”  
  
“I thought you’d never ask.” Smiling warmly, he gestured for her to come further into office. “We have a few minutes, so why don’t we go offer the planned proposal?”  
  
The two of them started working, but, in the back of Jax’s mind, he couldn’t stop thinking about his best friend. Despite her almost forced note of self-mocking pleasantness, he detected a hint of either sadness or desperation to her tone, and he was worried that there was more wrong in her world than just the usual aches and pains associated with pregnancy. If she wanted him to, the billionaire would fuel up his private jet and fly directly home to Port Charles. But he also knew Alexis, and, if he did that without her asking him to, she would be offended. So, he’d wait, and he’d be patient, hoping that eventually she would open up to him, and, if she didn’t, then he’d just have to find an alternative source of information, perhaps a very well placed, inconspicuous spy.

} ~ {

The homemade brownies, as always, had been a huge success, but Elizabeth’s prickly personality had been avoided… as she had hoped. She didn’t work to socialize, and she wasn’t a nurse to make friends. It was a realistic career, a practical one. It involved science, so it was completely whimsy free, and her family approved of nursing. While it wasn’t as prestigious as being a doctor like her two older siblings were, it afforded her a living in which she could support herself, and, as long as she was financially independent, her parents and grandmother left her alone, and that’s exactly how she wanted it.  
  
Elizabeth wasn’t sure that her life could be considered living. She was pretty sure she just existed, but that suited her needs just fine. She worked, she cleaned, she worked some more, she baked, she worked again, and, sometimes, she managed to sleep a little. Somewhere between all her double shifts, she fit in enough time with Patrick to keep him satisfied and off her back, but there was no real intimacy to their relationship. Hell, it was a stretch to even consider their interaction a relationship. Despite their emotional distance, they each served a purpose in the other’s life.  
  
To him, she was a convenience. She kept the apartment, she looked good on his arm when he needed to attend hospital functions or fundraisers to benefit the city, and she had sex with him without attaching strings. He was free to leave whenever he wanted, though he never did. She didn’t pressure him for more of a commitment, because she didn’t want one. Small, velvet jewelry boxes made her break out in a rash, but, with the neurosurgeon, there was no fear that he would ever try to propose to her.  
  
And, for her, he was a constant reminder of what her life was now. Bare, basic, and bland – with her past pushed roughly aside, she could focus on surviving, and Patrick helped with that. When things became too much, just like her maniacal cleaning or her marathon baking sessions, sex with her… roommate… could distract her, could exhaust her to the point where she could finally sleep for a few hours. Although Patrick knew that she was no more in love with him than he was in love with her, the dark haired doctor never asked why, and his disinterest suited her needs as well. In fact, their mutual apathy was the very thing that made them compatible.  
  
Allowing herself into their shared Manhattan apartment, a lush, converted loft that was not quite suitable for a workaholic nurse and an equally career driven surgeon, the young woman immediately headed into the only bedroom to change out of her scrubs. Despite the fact that it was a quarter after six, she threw on some pajamas, perfectly aware that she was not going out to party, dine, or drink. The first didn’t interest her, and the latter two she could do in the privacy of her own home without the hoopla of a crowd and the restrictions of social conventions.  
  
As was her habit, the dirty scrubs went directly into the collection of used laundry she would wash that Sunday. She always did laundry on Sunday – both her own and Patrick’s, not because she wanted to make his life easier but because the extra work was welcomed. To replace the loose fitting, shapeless clothing, Elizabeth slipped into a pair of short, girl boxers and a simple tank top. She scrubbed her face clean of its sparse but habitual makeup and threw her hair up into a messy bun.  
  
Padding softly back out to the main living area of the apartment, she noticed that there was a message on the machine, and, seeing as how Patrick wasn’t home yet from the hospital, she assumed it was from him, so she listened. It was; she was right. He had been called into an emergency surgery that would take several hours, but, before she could get to the explanation as to why the surgery was required, she cut her roommate off, knowing he would tell her about his procedure later and in more detail than she cared to hear. His absence, though, that evening was just as well, for he would have wanted to have sex. Again.  
  
Though she, too, was with him for the distraction their physical relationship provided her with at times, the nurse, by no means, had the sexual appetite the neurosurgeon did. Patrick could have sex every day, all day if he could, and she knew better than to attribute his energy or his eagerness to his animalistic attraction to her. While she knew she wasn’t an unattractive woman, it wasn’t her looks that kept Patrick with her, nor her personality, and she was alright with that fact. However, that evening, she was glad he wouldn’t be home for some time, and she was hoping that she would manage to fall asleep before he returned, both to burn away a few hours and to avoid the man she lived with.  
  
After retrieving a glass of red wine, she settled down into the large, white couch that dominated the living room area of the apartment’s main space. Everything in the converted loft was white except for the appliances; that was the one thing she had requested when they moved in, and Patrick cared more for how big the television was than he did the color of the wall that the television would hang upon. Flicking on the said plasma screen, Elizabeth proceeded to make her way through the ridiculous number of channels they subscribed to, uninterested and unseeing of what was flashing before her eyes.  
  
There wasn’t a show or two that she inevitably would try to catch. She wasn’t one of those women who became addicted to a certain character or a certain couple and then needed to follow them episode after episode to see what happened to them. Frankly, she was disinterested in the real people who surrounded her on a daily basis, so why would fake, imaginary characters fare any better? Unlike the other nurses she worked with, she didn’t watch her favorite programs every week on the edge of her seat and then rush into the hospital the next day, practically bursting with opinions to share.  
  
So, when it came time to relax, when she wanted to sit down and watch television in order to lull herself into sleep, the brunette had a hard time finding something to watch. Scripted dramas did not interest her, comedies were just banal entertainment, game shows were insipid and a waste of one’s energy, she saw enough horrors every day at work to avoid the news channels, and documentaries or anything educational like the history channel or the discovery channel were completely out of the question. She hated cartoons, reality shows were even more scripted than regular programs, and she was completely out of the loop when it came to music.  
  
Most of the time, she would just end up channel surfing, her index finger on her left hand, for her right would hold the wine glass that made continual trips to her expecting lips, pressed down and continually changing the station. The program or commercial would switch fast enough for her not to realize what exactly was happening, but, at the same time, the incessant barrage of visual and audio stimuli would lure her into a false sense of accomplishment, of exhaustion.  
  
Twenty minutes later, her wine glass was drained. She had considered getting up for another, but, when her eyelids started to droop shut, Elizabeth scratched that idea. Instead, she continued what she was doing. Channel after channel, show after show, advertisement after advertisement, the screen would change over and over and over again. She was probably just a few seconds shy of finally nodding off when a single word clearly stated before the television could move onto the next network roused her, made her sit up, back ramrod straight, eyes wide with insomnia and, once more, the past she couldn’t seem to forget no matter what she did was staring her directly in the face.  
  
 _Motorcycle_.  
  
Angrily, the nurse turned the TV off, throwing the remote across the room. With a satisfied splintering of sound, she listened as the device shattered into several fragmented pieces after hitting the wall. Standing up, she ignored the mess she had just made, left it there for another day, and set her empty wine glass on the table next to the couch. It was forgotten as soon as it left her fingers’ grasp. Returning to the phone she had only thirty minutes before listened to Patrick’s message from, the brunette dialed the only number she ever called, the only number she ever needed.  
  
When someone on the other line picked up, she said, “hello, this is Elizabeth Webber calling. I was wondering if there might be any extra shifts open this evening that I could pick up?”  
  
There was. Quickly, she went back to the bedroom she shared with her doctor roommate, changed, again, into another pair of scrubs - blue ones. They were always blue. She never wore any other color, and she certainly didn’t purchase those ridiculous printed ones with the smiling kittens and the drooling puppy dogs. This time, with the past nipping at her heels, she didn’t bother with makeup or with brushing out her hair. She left clean faced and with her long, thick locks still tossed up into her messy bun from earlier.  
  
Locking the loft’s door behind her, she moved directly towards the elevator that would carry her back down to the ground floor. The hospital was only a few blocks away from where she lived with Patrick, so she would walk, using the crisp air of the May twilight to brace her for her upcoming extra shift. While she might be able to catch an hour or two of sleep later in the on-call room, Elizabeth was perfectly prepared for another sleepless, restless night of insomnia as she wandered from room to room, from patient to patient. Compared to the alternative, staying at home and remembering, the monotony of her job and the exhausting nature of it was a welcome relief.

} ~ {

Jake’s was not one of his usual haunts. While that evening was not the first time he had ever been to the dive bar, he certainly didn’t frequent the establishment either. For the Cassadine prince, the alcohol was too cheap, the vinyl seats too sticky, and the whores too vulgar. However, he had not been the one to pick the location for their business meeting; that had been the responsibility of his associate, but, since Nikolas was already there, he was determined to make the best of it.  
  
Sitting in the darkest booth where the lighting was dim and the prospects for being seen were even dimmer, he surveyed his surroundings. The jukebox was at a temporary lull, something he was quite thankful for, giving his taste in music did not veer towards either Southern Rock or Suicidal Country. Although it was only approaching ten o’clock, the bar was nearly empty. Save for a few diehard regulars and himself, the seedy beer joint was practically a ghost town. A few men played pool, while the others were situated at the bar, slowly downing mug after mug of low quality, bitter ale.  
  
For the life of him, the wealthy prince had never understood the appeal of the dockside establishment. While it made sense that those who worked along the Port Charles’ wharf would haunt the tavern, some of the town’s wealthiest but certainly not the most prominent also preferred Jake’s. Jason Morgan for one, though the hitman had been long gone for some time, and even his dearly departed wife had held a special place in her heart for the seedy saloon, even going as far as having her bachelorette party there despite his protests. But Emily had been young, too young to even legally drink, and Nikolas suspected the proprietor of the establishment had looked the other way on the night his deceased wife had celebrated her last evening of being single.  
  
However, things had changed so much since then. The mother of his son was now dead, he was associating with new, diverse business partners, and the brother Emily had so adored, the one who disappeared just a few months after she had died during childbirth, was suddenly back in town but, apparently, not living above the bar. Though he had not come right out and asked such an impertinent and suspicious question, Nikolas had managed to listen with one ear to the all the conversations around him that evening, and the news from both the joint’s owner and its patrons was that no one had seen hide nor hair of Jason Morgan yet, and there was one person definitely none too pleased with that fact.  
  
Carly Quartermaine Corinthos.  
  
He had eavesdropped on Jake telling one of her regulars about how the multiple divorcée had come slithering in the night before, asking about the enforcer, and, when she wouldn’t take no for an answer, the bartender had simply given her the keys to check the rooms for herself. And she hadn’t been heard from since. Not that the middle aged blonde didn’t expect her back again real soon, he remembered her admitting, but she wasn’t going to find the circumstances changed any since the evening before.  
  
So, Nikolas sat waiting, if not eager than, at least, interested to see if the proprietress’ prediction would come true. His associate had departed from the bar some time before, their business concluded, but, still, the prince remained, hiding, watching, slowly nursing just a single, shoddy finger of brandy, because, if he knew Carly – and he did, then she would definitely prove to be obvious and unsurprising, and he certainly wasn’t above taking advantage of the woman’s less than brilliant qualities.  
  
To absolutely no one’s astonishment, the bottle blonde arrived just moments later. Dressed perhaps even tackier than the women who worked on Cortland street, it was apparent that Carly had every intention of seducing her prey, and the Russian royalty found himself wondering if that was the exact reason why Morgan wasn’t staying at the bar, if he was purposely trying to avoid his partner’s ex-wife. If so, Nikolas’ respect for the other man ratcheted up one notch, though it was still abysmally low. The almost sad thing was that Carly seemed completely unaware of how transparent her schemes were, even to those who didn’t know her.  
  
Before she could sidle up to the bar and harass the owner, he stood up from his seat that was shrouded by shadows and stepped far enough into the light so that the former mob moll would notice him. As he thought, her eyes immediately zeroed in on his person. It was as though Carly Quartermaine Corinthos’ senses were instinctively attracted to anything with wealth… except for when it came to her own tastes. Oh, she spent plenty of money. It was obvious that her cheap looking clothes were anything but. However, when it came to the divorcée, money did not translate into class.  
  
Upon seeing him, she grinned, and Nikolas was sure that the gesture was meant to be sultry and seductive. It wasn’t. “What a surprise,” Carly practically cooed as she advanced towards where he was still standing. “The Cassadine prince having a drink at Jake’s, I must say that’s a sight I never thought I’d see.”  
  
Ignoring her, the dark haired man ordered, “sit down.”  
  
Much to his disbelief, the bottled blonde did so without argument or delay. In fact, she was so eager that she beat him to his own seat. However, he was not surprised when she chose to sit on the same side of the booth that it was evident he himself was sitting on, but he refused to back down, so they ended up so close their thighs brushed.  
  
“The word is that you’re looking for Jason, Carly. You know, you really should be more subtle.”  
  
“Subtlety never gets a woman anywhere,” she returned dismissively.  
  
“Aw,” Nikolas contradicted, “but it does for a lady.”  
  
Again, she seemed to ignore him and, instead of rising to his bait, said, “so, I take it you know that Jason is back in town then?”  
  
“I’ve heard a few things.”  
  
At that admission, Michael’s mother perked up. “Really, what?”  
  
“Oh, Carly,” the prince taunted, laughing softly to himself before lifting up his tumbler and taking a sip of his brandy. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t it be,” she pouted.  
  
“How about a drink,” he offered instead of satisfying her query. “Can I interest you in a martini or a shot of tequila? Perhaps, you’re more of a beer type of girl.”  
  
Snapping, the divorcée responded, “I don’t want anything except for some answers. What do you know about Jason?”  
  
“Tit for tat, Carlybabes,” Nikolas warned. “If you want me to help you, then you better be prepared to do something for me.”  
  
If it was possible, she scooted even closer to him, and he could feel her entire scantily clad body pressed up against his own. “Well, you know, when I want to be, I can be very… _helpful_.” With that, the bottled blonde slid her right hand up his thigh, stopping it just shy of his crotch. With a good, sensual squeeze to his leg, she added, “and I’m also quite familiar with the rooms upstairs.”  
  
“So, I’ve heard,” the prince retorted. “However, I’m not, and I plan to keep it that way. No,” he decreed, “we’ll be heading back to Wyndamere to complete this little transaction of ours.”  
  
Rising again, the Russian royalty dropped a fifty dollar bill onto the table top, unconcerned about the excessive tip he was leaving the proprietress. Reaching for Carly, he pulled her up and after him as they exited the bar. She followed, almost obediently, not saying a single word, and he admitted to himself that he liked her much better that way – silent and submissive. With the realization, Nikolas also promised himself that later, once they were in the privacy of his home, he’d just have to find a way to keep that annoying mouth of hers otherwise occupied so that she couldn’t talk. He knew that such an endeavor would not be difficult.  
  
As they slid into his Jaguar, the single mother, either unconcerned about calling her nanny or too used to leaving her son alone with the hired help for the evening, didn’t offer up a single protest when he drove out of the parking lot and towards the warehouse on the docks where he kept his vehicles. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he maneuvered the luxury car, the dark haired man said, “I’d prefer if we get the rather unpleasant aspect of our business out of the way before we get back to my home.”  
  
“Then tell me what you know about Jason,” Carly responded. “I assume your feelings towards him haven’t changed at all over the years, so he must be what you are referring to.”  
  
He answered without further fanfare. “I have no idea where he’s staying, for I could not claim to really know or understand the man, but what I’ve heard is that he’s back in town for business.”  
  
Snorting, the bottled blonde rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me. When Sonny says jump, Jason says how high. But I pretty much already figured that out for myself. What I’m interested in is what kind of business.”  
  
“Well, it’s certainly not coffee that brought him back to Port Charles.”  
  
Smirking, the multiple divorcée snarked, “and here I thought princes were above sarcasm.”  
  
“To the contrary,” Nikolas returned. “To answer your question, though, from what I’ve been able to gather from my sources, Jason’s back because of some deal your ex-husband has worked out with the Zacchara’s.”  
  
“Anthony Zacchara?”  
  
“Ah, so you’ve heard of him?”  
  
Haughtily, Carly replied, “I know all the players in this area.”  
  
Under his breath, he murmured, “now why doesn’t that surprise me?” But his _date_ for the evening didn’t hear him, and he wasn’t prepared to make her angry… yet. That would come later, when he had her exactly where he wanted her and they would be too far into their game for the tramp to back out then. Because that’s what Carly Quartermaine Corinthos was – a tramp, and Nikolas was quite prepared to treat her that way. For some reason, though, he had a suspicion that she wouldn’t mind, that she might even enjoy it, and, for that, he begrudgingly conceded to her a little respect. After all, it was better to like who you were even if no one else did than it was to attempt to change the inevitable, and, apparently, Carly understood that fact, too.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Diane Miller apologized in a flurry of activity as she rushed into the quaint café she was meeting Nadine in. Whereas the nurse was silently sitting at a table for two, calmly sipping what appeared to be some form of tea, the lawyer was loud and brash and turned the heads of everyone in the establishment. She made quite the entrance. Further explaining herself, the red head continued, “I had an emergency this morning.”  
  
“Oh, I hope that everything is okay.”  
  
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I,” she asked, but her question contained no malice or annoyance.  
  
“Yes, but, if there’s something else you need to be doing, somewhere else you need to be, I would understand,” Nadine reassured her. “We can reschedule.”  
  
“Why on earth would we do that?”  
  
Appearing slightly flustered, the soon-to-be ex Mrs. Cassadine said, “you said there was an emergency. If someone in your family is sick…”  
  
“Oh, I have no family,” Diane reassured her, interrupting. At the look of confusion on the younger woman’s face, she clarified. “Well, somewhere out there I would imagine a person exists who shares the same blood lines as I do, but, whoever they are, I don’t know them. I’m the only daughter of two only children, both of which are deceased. I am a chick without a nest, so to speak.”  
  
“Then your emergency… was it about work?”  
  
“No,” she answered. “I’m too good at what I do for there to be any kind of problem with my work and certainly not one on an emergency level. Besides,” the attorney waved off the blonde’s fears. “Even if there was one, your brother would know how to handle it. No, this emergency was purely personal.”  
  
Nadine blushed. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For intruding,” the medical professional answered. “Chalk it up to being a nurse. We’re trained to probe into other people’s business.”  
  
“There’s no need to apologize,” Diane stated. “To put it simply, I had a fashion emergency this morning. I should have just said something in the first place, but it didn’t even occur to me that you would actually be worried about me. You see, most people I associate with are sharks, and, unless a shark smells blood, they’re perfectly indifferent. But that’s not you. You’re a bleeding heart. As soon as you hear the word ‘emergency,’ you immediately want to make it all better. I temporarily forgot that fact, but I’m going to blame my lapse in memory on my shoes.” With that, the lawyer held up her left foot for the other woman to inspect. “Aren’t they to die for?”  
  
“They’re… pretty?”  
  
“And now they’re insulted,” the red head complained, the shoe crashing to the floor with a melodious tap. Shrewdly, the older woman leaned across the table towards her secretary’s sister. “Despite technically still being a princess, you don’t know shoes, do you?”  
  
“I know those things look like they could cause some serious damage, and I know that I could never walk in them,” Nadine said, shrugging her shoulders. “But, other than that, no.”  
  
“These are Roger Vivier heels.” When the nurse didn’t react, she gawked. “Still nothing?”  
  
“I’m afraid not.”  
  
“He’s amazing, a complete genius, and I ordered these peeped toe, platform, copper hued, cut out sling back stilettos from his latest collection sight unseen, so, when they arrived this morning, I realized that I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear with them.”  
  
“So,” the mother of two didn’t understand. “Why wouldn’t you just wear a different pair of shoes?”  
  
“Because these are brand new,” Diane exclaimed, her eyes wide with astonishment. How someone could not understand her quandary, especially a someone who was a beautiful, young woman, she did not know. “Plus, no one else in this backwater of a town has a pair of these shoes. I _had_ to show them off!”  
  
“Alright, I’ll play along,” Nadine agreed, laughing softly. Resting her head on her right hand as she settled in for an explanation, she asked, “so, what did you do?”  
  
“Why, I immediately called over to that little boutique on Madison and Third and demanded that they send me over something to wear with my new shoes, and, as soon as I told them who made my shoes, they were only too eager. I faxed them a picture of the beauties, and, thirty minutes later, a messenger arrived with an entire rack of professional attire for me to select from, all in this same copper hue. It was heavenly. The only problem was that there was just too much to choose from, and I ended up buying more than one new outfit, so I’ll have to buy another new pair of shoes. Luckily for me, I just so happened to see a pair of these sick, truly sick, Christian Louboutins yesterday when I was browsing online. They’re a metallic silver pump with this big, elaborate, copper rose front. I’m not kidding; they look like a piece of artwork and not a pair of shoes.” Giggling like a school girl, the red head confessed, “I already bought a pair this morning on my drive over here. Really, what did we women do before the Blackberry was invented?”  
  
When the attorney finished, she took a deep breath and waited for the younger woman to respond… only Nadine didn’t. Eventually, the soon-to-be divorcée lifted her head from her hand and closely observed her fashion obsessed counterpart. “You must be thirsty. Can I get you something to drink? It’s my treat since you offered to help me find a lawyer.”  
  
“Oh, honey, they’ll bring me _my_ drink momentarily.” Nodding towards the barista behind the counter, Diane enlightened the nurse, “I chose to meet you here, because I come to this café daily. All the employees know exactly what I drink, and they make it for me without me even having to order at this point. They know that I’m a busy woman and that I’ll tip them even better if they take care of me without me having to ask for them to. And look at him,” she exclaimed, grinning foolishly. “He’s delicious. If he was on the menu, I’d order him every day, too, and have him hold the whipped cream off my drink so he could rub it all over his chest, and I could lick it off instead.”  
  
Sputtering, the blonde protested, “but he’s a child!”  
  
“He’s nineteen, perfectly legal,” the older woman reasoned. “And our flirting is perfectly harmless. I pinch his butt, he sucks on my straw, and I give him my business card every couple of weeks, impressing upon him that, if he ever needs any _legal assistance,_ then he should give me a call. See, it’s all completely innocent.”  
  
Suddenly, the nurse smirked. “You’ve been to your own fair share of Chip N’ Dale shows, haven’t you?”  
  
“A lady never shares such secrets,” Diane contended, smiling indulgently when her drink, just as she said it would be, was delivered to her. “Thanks, sweet cheeks,” she said as she graced the barista with a flirty wink.  
  
He returned the gesture and went so far as to bend down and kiss the lawyer’s cheek. “Anytime, Di.”  
  
Once he was gone, Nadine questioned, “Di?”  
  
“I find nicknames to be delightfully sexy, don’t you?”  
  
“I wouldn’t know. Nikolas and I haven’t, well, you know…”  
  
The attorney’s mouth popped open. “Really? In how long?”  
  
Wincing, the blonde admitted, “six… maybe seven months.”  
  
“Well, no wonder you’re getting divorced! Listen here,” Diane offered. “When the papers go through, Brenden over there,” she waved towards the nineteen year old, “will be my celebratory gift to you. But you can only have him for one week,” she warned. “Once that week is over, if you haven’t sealed the deal, you forfeit your rights to him, and I get him back, so we can continue our daily tête-à-têtes.”  
  
“Thank you, but, really, that won’t be necessary.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” the red head stated, taking a sip of her fancy coffee. Getting down to business finally, she said, “now, about this divorce of yours, I think you should contact Alexis Davis and hire her no matter what her fee is. While she might be living a thug’s life now, she’s still a damn fine attorney, and she’s handled some very high profile divorce cases in the past. Since I’m not available, she’s your best option.”  
  
“I’m sure that Alexis is a brilliant lawyer, and I have no doubt that she would do her best for me, but don’t you think that would be a slight conflict of interest for her,” Nadine asked. “I mean, she is Nikolas’ aunt.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Yes,” the nurse drawled out, her pale blue eyes showing her surprise. “You didn’t know that?”  
  
“I didn’t,” the older woman admitted. “I’m not originally from this town. I moved here about six years ago to take up a certain client, and, with my work load, I don’t often get to socialize, and I certainly don’t follow idyll gossip.” Pursing her lips, she added, “now, that’s interesting, but, at the same time, it also doesn’t automatically mean that Alexis cannot represent you. Tell me about her relationship with her nephew.”  
  
“Well, they don’t get along, so I don’t know that much about her,” the blonde responded. “Nikolas and his aunt were estranged long before I met him. I think it has something to do with her being illegitimate, and it didn’t help matters that she didn’t approve of his marriage to Emily, his first wife. From what I’ve been able to piece together from the staff, the two of them fought bitterly over the marriage because Nikolas was so young, and he basically threw her out of his life.”  
  
“So, Alexis might be bitter, she might be resentful, she might have a cross to bear against your soon-to-be ex-husband?”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“And, so, that’s exactly why you must hire her,” Diane cried out. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she told the mother of two, standing up and gathering her things. “I’ll make all the arrangements for you. This is going to be perfect. See,” she added before exiting the small, quaint café. “Expensive, beautiful, designer shoes make all the difference. Today is our lucky day, Mrs. Cassadine. Never underestimate the power of a good pair of stilettos.”

} ~ {

Jason went to let himself into Sonny’s office when the older man’s secretary stopped him. “Excuse me, Mr. Morgan?”  
  
Without saying a word, he turned, faced her, and waited for the middle aged woman to state her peace. He had been in town now for a few days, but this was his first time being back at the warehouse. Despite the fact that it had been remodeled since the last time he was there, it still pretty much looked the same to him. There were crates and bins of coffee everywhere, workers busy milling about, and, no matter what they did, it always looked slightly dirty. He guessed it was from all the heavy equipment’s fumes.  
  
“There was a package delivered for you yesterday,” the natural strawberry blonde explained her intrusion upon his intended meeting with Sonny.  
  
Disbelief tinged his voice. “For me?”  
  
“Yes, sir. I signed for it myself, and it’s your name on the front.”  
  
Shrugging, Jason took the padded envelope from her, and nodded his head in appreciation. Obviously sensing that she had been politely dismissed, the secretary returned to her desk and immediately began to work on whatever it was she was doing before his arrival. It was just odd that he had mail already. Only back in town a few days, and someone knew enough about his movements, about his reason for being back, that they sent him a package at the warehouse. True, there were very few other places he could be associated with, but it still puzzled the enforcer. He wasn’t worried that the envelope was a threat to his life. Security already would have gone over it with a fine tooth comb before it ever could land in his hands, but, still, just the same, he was curious.  
  
Opening the door to his partner’s office, it instantly felt as if he had been transported back in time. While the circumstances surrounding the Cuban’s life might have changed, Sonny was still, essentially, the same man. He still wore his fancy, designer suits, his office was still large and opulently furnished, and the man still looked more like a pretty boy than he did a criminal. However, unlike in the past, the steadiness of his friend’s aesthetic tastes did not reassure Jason, for he was starting to wonder about the man underneath the silk shirt and carefully styled hair. Nothing in their organization was the way he had expected it to be, the way he felt it should be, and the fact was that Sonny should have informed him of the changes long before he was summoned to return to Port Charles.  
  
Uninvited, he took a seat opposite of the man he both worked for and was partners with. It was an odd set of employment circumstances. “Thanks for meeting with me, Jason.”  
  
Without prompting and certainly without returning the older man’s empty platitudes, the hitman said, “I’m not going to babysit Anthony Zacchara’s kid.”  
  
“It won’t be like that,” Sonny argued.  
  
“Look, I came home, because _you_ said you needed me, not because someone else wanted me. If there’s not a problem, then I’m going to leave again.”  
  
“Just like that?”  
  
“Why not,” Jason shrugged. “There’s nothing to keep me here, and there’s still a lot that I want to see. I’ll check in with my grandmother, visit Emily’s grave, and then I’ll disappear.”  
  
In an unexpected sign of weakness, the blonde watched as his partner’s shoulders fell, and the Cuban visibly shrank in size as he sighed. “It’s not that easy this time, I’m afraid.” Waiting patiently, he allowed Sonny to explain. “This deal I made with the Zacchara’s, it’s binding. They’ve already come through on their end of the bargain, and, now, Anthony’s called in his marker, and he wants your help. Because you’re my enforcer, he believes that I can speak for you, that I can make you do this for me. I need your help, man.”  
  
Despite the fact that it was a slightly petulant reaction, the young man remarked, “I’d say for you to have Johnny do it, but, no, he’s dead, isn't he, … on your orders.”  
  
Snapping, the dark haired man fired back, “you weren’t here, Jason, and I did what was necessary. O’Brien betrayed me.”  
  
“Johnny was the most loyal man we had before I left town five years ago. What the hell happened between then and now to make him turn against you?”  
  
“Exactly,” his boss remarked, standing up from his chair and moving towards the one window in the otherwise dark office. When his back was turned towards the enforcer, Jason started to open the envelope he had been given on his way into the meeting. “You have been gone for more than five years. Do not expect for me to account for each and every one of my decisions. If you were so concerned about this organization, about how I was running it, then you should have been here, doing your job, instead of being off _exploring_.”  
  
The final word was said with so much derision, with so much scorn that he found himself wondering just how much Sonny resented him for taking off when he himself couldn’t. Finally, the blonde remarked, “fine, that’s fair, but I’m still not training Anthony Zacchara’s kid.”  
  
“Haven’t you ever heard of the old adage ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’”  
  
“Not that close,” the professional gun retorted. “Teaching your rival all your tricks is just asking for trouble, Sonny, and there was a time when you used to know that.”  
  
“Yeah, but I owe that old man, and I can’t afford to piss him off right now.” Still observing the scene outside of the warehouse, the older mobster pressed on. “Alexis and I, we’re expecting a baby soon.”  
  
“Max told me.” At that point, he didn’t feel much like congratulating his partner, so he just remained silent.  
  
“It’s a high risk pregnancy. Between her habit of hyperventilating and her penchant for panic attacks, her blood pressure is always through the roof. I’ve gotten her to cut back on her case load, but she refuses to quit working entirely. Plus, there’s the fact that she still refuses to move in with me. I just... with everything such a mess in my personal life, I can’t risk a mob war breaking out between my organization and the Zacchara’s.”  
  
“Don’t you mean our organization, Sonny?”  
  
The don shrugged, obviously not quite agreeing with his second in command. “If that’s how you think of it, maybe you should do something to actually help run it - train John Zacchara.”  
  
The air between them became stifling with silence, but Jason didn’t even attempt to break through the quiet. Instead, he was too caught up in the small picture he was holding in his suddenly clammy hands. Though he couldn’t really see the image due to his injury, he knew that the photo was of a sonogram, for he could remember Carly showing him similar snapshots while she was pregnant with Michael. Flipping the small piece of cardboard over, the hitman found writing on the back. There was a date – 3/31/00 – and a small note.  
  
 _If you want to know more, then you’ll cooperate with me, Mr. Morgan. ~ Anthony Zacchara  
  
_ Needing more time to think, he found himself changing the subject and asking his friend, “how’s Michael?”  
  
As Sonny turned towards him, he shoved the picture into the right front pocket of his leather jacket. The Cuban returned to his desk, sat down, and then steepled his fingers before answering. “He’s good, grown a lot since the last time you saw him.  
  
Even as he responded, the blonde ran the date from the sonogram through his mind, trying to connect it to something that would make sense, to something that would matter to him. “Kids tend to do that in five years’ time.”  
  
“He seems excited about becoming a big brother or sister, though I must say it was kind of challenging explaining the situation to him. He didn’t really understand.”  
  
He had already left Port Charles by March of 2000; the man sitting across from him had sent him on a job, but only a few months before…. “And how’s he doing in school?”  
  
“He’s a smart kid,” the dark haired mobster bragged, finally displaying his infamous dimples in a wide grin. “And talented, too. You should see some of the drawings he brings home.  
  
Drawing, sketching, painting, art – while he couldn’t see the pictures, he had once known someone who could explain them to him, and, just three months before the date on the back of the sonogram…. “I’ll do it,” he stated, abruptly standing up to leave. “Tell Zacchara I’ll do what he wants; I’ll cooperate.”  
  
“Thanks, Jason,” Sonny offered, standing to hold out a hand in gratitude. “This means a lot to me.”  
  
But the enforcer never returned the gesture. Rather, he just stared at his partner, looked him in the eye, and said, “I’m not doing this for you. I have my own reasons that have nothing to do with you or this business.”  
  
“Alright, then,” the Cuban agreed, dropping his hand. “And I take it you’re not willing to share those reasons with me?”  
  
“They’re my business, not yours, just like you leaving Carly and Michael to have a kid with Alexis was your business, not mine, just like you killing Johnny was your business, not mine. I’ll show myself out,” Jason stated, already turning towards the door.  
  
Whether Sonny liked it or not, their meeting was over… just as it appeared their friendship was as well. Everything, it appeared, had changed in five years’ time, including him.

} ~ {

Sighing luxuriously, Maxie leaned back in her chair, savoring the moment. There was nothing like private pedicures in one’s own home. Taking a sip of her fruity, alcoholic drink, she started to sing, “if you like pina coladas or getting caught in the…”  
  
“Wait, wait, wait,” her cousin interrupted her, sitting up far enough to turn and stare at the younger woman in an alarming manner. “You – _you_ – listen to Jimmy Buffett?”  
  
“What,” the blonde protested, frowning. “He sings only about having a good time. What’s not to like?”  
  
Collapsing back into her chair, the doctor pronounced, “this just blows my mind.”  
  
“It’s not like I just busted out some Vivaldi.”  
  
Robin looked at her out of the corner of her eyes. “You don’t know Italian opera, do you?”  
  
“Well, Georgie used to make Mac and I listen to classical music for a half an hour after dinner when we were younger, but I never paid attention. I’d either take a nap when she wasn’t looking or daydream. Besides,” she added, taking their conversation back to the original topic. “We’re drinking pina coladas, so how could I _not_ think about that song?”  
  
“That’s a good point,” the older woman conceded.  
  
The two were quiet for several minutes, and the only sound that filled their Parisian apartment was that made by their hired pedicurists. Finally, it was Robin who broke the silence. “Doesn’t this,” she gestured towards their soaking feet, “make you feel kind of icky?”  
  
“Actually, no,” the nanny returned. “I think it feels quite divine, thank you very much.”  
  
“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” the brunette protested. “The pedicure physically feels great, but the fact that we hire it done privately in our home, doesn’t that make you feel… oh, I don’t know… extremely nouveau riche?”  
  
“But we are new money,” the younger woman pointed out. “Well, I’m not, but you are, and I’m riding on your coat tails. Uncle Robbie and Mac’s parents were both poor. Hell, their parents were second generation expelled convicts from Australia. It doesn’t get much lower in the barrel than that.”  
  
“Don’t be so literal,” her cousin protested. “What I meant was nouveau riche in the derogatory social class distinction. Think about it,” she commanded. “Lila Quartermaine would _never_ hire private pedicurists.”  
  
“Yeah, and Lila Quartermaine is in a wheelchair. We’re young, we’re hip, and you live a busy life. I don’t see what’s so bad about splurging every once in a while.”  
  
“Our money could be put to a better use, though,” the medical professional stated. “We could give each other pedicures, save our money, and then donate it to charity.”  
  
“Look,” Maxie interjected harshly, sitting up to glare at the older woman. “It’s not like we’re selling diamonds on the black market. We’re getting freaking pedicures, and, if we gave them to each other, then how would we be able to drink our pina coladas at the same time? Besides,” she added, her tone becoming slightly mocking. “Haven’t you ever heard of trickledown economics? We pay these lovely ladies here,” she motioned towards the pedicurists who had yet to even look up from their task at hand, “to massage our feet and paint our toes, paying them heftier fees to come to our home, and they, in turn, can use that extra cash to donate to their favorite charity, so everybody wins. We get our pedicures, they get a great commission, and some kid in Africa gets a mosquito net. Thank you, Ronald Reagan.”  
  
Robin’s mouth was slightly agape. “You know, there are no words to describe you.”  
  
“Au contraire, my friend,” smirked the younger woman, and, with that, she started singing once again. “Well she's all you'd ever want. She's the kind they'd like to flaunt and take to dinner. Well, she always knows her place. She's got style; she's got grace. She's a winner.”  
  
“Okay, first Jimmy Buffett and now Tom Jones,” the doctor exclaimed. “Who are you, and what did you do with my cousin.”  
  
“Relax, we played with your karaoke machine today.”  
  
“I don’t have a karaoke machine.”  
  
“Ah, but you do now,” Maxie informed her. “And don’t worry about Cate,” she offered flippantly. “I made sure she didn’t sing anything worse than PG-13.”  
  
“But she’s four,” the brunette protested.  
  
“She’s very mature for her age, you know” the nanny countered. “In fact, she was really curious about Limp Bizkit’s ‘Nookie,’ but I just told her the guy who sang it wore this hideous puffy coat, and she changed her mind.”  
  
Gritting her teeth, Robin asked, “what did my daughter sing?”  
  
“Oh, she stuck with the really girly songs that most kids her age like.”  
  
“So like nursery rhymes,” the medical professional asked, sounding hopeful.  
  
“Please, she’s not two,” the blonde countered. “Let me see…” Recalling their afternoon, she ticked off several songs on her left hand while still holding her drink in her right. “She sang ‘Like a Virgin,’ ‘Genie in a Bottle,’ ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time,’ ‘Red Light…’”  
  
“Alright, that’s enough! I don’t think I want to know anymore. Tell me why, again, did I ever ask you to be my daughter’s nanny?”  
  
Cheekily, the younger woman replied, “because I’m the only person you know who wouldn’t shy away from the tough questions.”  
  
Groaning, Robin wondered out loud, “what did Cate ask you now?”  
  
“She asked me if she would ever have a brother or a sister, and she asked me about her father.”  
  
“And what did you tell her?”  
  
“Well, I nixed the whole idea of another kid, so don’t worry about that,” Maxie assured her. “As for her dad, I told her that he was borrowed… like my sewing machine, and she ended up thinking that she was just like an MJ original, so she was happy as a clam.”  
  
The brunette rolled her eyes. “You two are just such clothes horses. Everything can be traced back to fashion, can’t it?”  
  
“You know, I’ve always loathed that term – clothes horse. We’re not braying, stomping Clydesdales.”  
  
The medical professional laughed. “Well, I’m sorry that I offended your delicate sensibilities.”  
  
“Well, now, you’re just being pert,” Maxie pouted.  
  
“And where do you think I learned that from?”  
  
Simultaneously, both cousins started giggling and said in unison, “Cate,” in answer to the doctor’s question.  
  
“Seriously, though,” Robin became serious once again. “These questions of my daughter’s just makes me wonder even more if it is not time for us to return to Port Charles.”  
  
“What,” the younger woman cried out, sitting up straight and nearly unseating her pedicurist. “You’re joking, right? I think someone’s had a little too much rum.”  
  
“No, I’m completely sober. You’re the one who’s already on her second pina colada.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m not a light weight when it comes to alcohol… unlike someone else in this room.” Becoming more sober, the blonde asked, “where is this idea coming from? Why would you ever want to go back to New York?”  
  
“I received a conference call a couple of days ago… from Mercy, actually, and it just made me nostalgic, I guess. Plus, as Cate’s becoming aware of, she has no male influences in her life. Wouldn’t it be good for her to be closer to Uncle Mac?”  
  
“Can’t you just sign her up for a big brother or something?”  
  
“Maxie,” the older woman chastised.  
  
“Look, I think this whole thing is a really stupid idea, okay,” the nanny complained, suddenly standing up and slamming her drink down on the table between them. Stomping off towards her room, she yelled back over her shoulder, “way to ruin a good pedicure, Robin, and we have so many nice evenings together, too.”  
  
Maxie Jones was not happy.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Audrey Hardy was exhausted, not from physical exertion, she feared, but from emotional. After all, she was severely lonely. True, she had her work. Despite the fact that she was well into her seventies, she had yet to quit her position at General Hospital, preferring, instead, to distract herself from the solitude she felt by delving into other people’s lives and problems. And she was good at her job, too, so no one complained that she was past the age of retirement. Without her position as a nurse, Audrey knew that her health would fail rapidly. After all, she had absolutely no distractions. Not a single member of her family lived in Port Charles with her, and she feared she had no one to blame for that fact but herself.  
  
Jeff and his wife, Carolyn, she did not feel their desertion like she did that of her grandchildren. Steven had always been a lovely boy, bright and full of joyful exuberance. And he was successful, too, mightily so. In fact, his career was so prosperous, so in demand that it was unthinkable to her husband’s namesake that he should settle down in such an out of the way, pastoral town such as Port Charles. His goals positioned him in places that would grant him great wealth and great honor, and he had too little free time to even consider starting a family of his own.  
  
And then there was Sarah. Her oldest granddaughter was the beauty of the family, but her intelligence was nothing to slouch at either. She could rival her older brother’s knowledge of all things medical, and she was the shining jewel of their parents’ eye. Focused on her career just like Steven, Sarah, too, refused to consider settling down and starting a family. However, Audrey had never been as close to either Steven or Sarah as she was with Elizabeth, but, nevertheless, she had still managed to drive her youngest grandchild away as well.  
  
Looking back now, Audrey realized how callously she had treated Elizabeth. Just like Elizabeth's parents, she had always compared the brunette to her blonde counterpart, beseeching her younger granddaughter to be more like Sarah – to behave like Sarah, to get good grades like Sarah, to date respectable young men like Sarah. But Elizabeth had been the free spirit of the family, the dreamer, and, in her own way, Audrey had crushed the innocent child’s spirit.  
  
Besides her grandmother’s constant disapproval, Elizabeth had been forced to contend with too much loss for a young girl her age. Not only had her parents abandoned her when she was just an adolescent, but her innocence had been brutally taken from her as well. Lucky Spencer, someone who knew something about loss seeing as how his own father had been killed by Frank Smith, a gangster, when he was only a child, comforted Audrey’s granddaughter. He got her through the devastation that she felt after her attack, and the two innocents had fallen head over heels in love. Only Lucky died as well, leaving Elizabeth alone once again.  
  
But her granddaughter had been resilient. She threw herself and her hurt into her artwork, using her paintings as an outlet for the shuddering weight of grief and angst she felt. Plus, she had her friends as well. Emily and Nikolas, though both older than Elizabeth by several years, had taken the young brunette under their wing following Lucky’s death. While the Quartermaine heiress had seen a similar idealistic leaning in Elizabeth that she herself possessed, her prince of a boyfriend, then fiancé, and finally husband recognized a strength of character in the brunette that he himself possessed. The three of them together, especially after Lucky’s mother Laura committed suicide, healed one another.  
  
And then there had been Jason Morgan, too, and that was where Audrey’s real contention with her granddaughter began and ended. Emily’s older brother, estranged from their family, she had believed was a negative influence upon Elizabeth’s life. He was dangerous, and he would inevitably get her granddaughter into trouble. She didn’t trust Jason with either Elizabeth’s safety or her virtue, and the nurse had done everything within her power to break up the young couple, for, despite their protests to the rest of the world, that was exactly what they had been.  
  
Her determination had proved fruitful when Jason had left town a mere month after his sister perished during childbirth. Nikolas, with the loss of his wife, faded into a man Elizabeth no longer recognized, and alone, once again, Audrey’s granddaughter had faded into someone the elderly woman no longer recognized as well. Three months after Jason Morgan left Port Charles, so did Elizabeth, sneaking off into the dark of the night without a word to her grandmother.  
  
“Audrey? Audrey!” The unrelenting voice of her companion forced the widow to look up from her salad. “Are you even listening to me?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Monica,” the older woman apologized profusely, both contrite for her behavior and embarrassed. “I’m afraid my mind was somewhere else entirely.”  
  
“It’s no matter,” the cardiologist waved off. “Preoccupation happens to the best us.”  
  
“Yes, but it was rude, and it shouldn’t have happened. Please,” Audrey insisted, “tell me again what you were saying.”  
  
“I was just telling you about how Alan and I noticed how old the hospital staff is, collectively speaking.”  
  
Fearing that the younger woman’s turn of conversation was her discreet way at hinting towards the nurse’s retirement, she felt her back stiffen and an unyielding obstinacy enter her clear, watery blue eyes. “Are you saying that we are no longer capable of performing our duties?”  
  
“Of course not,” Monica waved off, pausing momentarily to take a drink of her iced tea. “Alan and I are just worried about the future of the hospital. Think about it,” she maintained. “What is going to happen to GH when Alan and I retire, when you retire, when Bobby, and Tony, and Amy, and Doctor Meadows, and every other middle aged staff member retires? The entire place will fall down around our ears.”  
  
Realizing she had a point, the widow nodded her concurrence. “I see. Well, that is certainly a problem. Have you come up with a solution?”  
  
“Obviously, we need to start courting younger hires,” the cardiologist answered, “but, at this point, neither Alan nor myself can seem to get past our own culpability. You see, we fear that subconsciously, we have done this to the hospital on purpose, out of our own grief at losing both Jason and Emily.”  
  
Audrey thought of her own sorrows, of her own loss when it came to her granddaughter, and her shoulders slumped in equal disappointment and sadness. “I’m afraid I’m probably just as guilty of such a thing as you are.” Sighing wistfully, she added, “you have no idea how much I miss my Elizabeth. Granted, it’s not the same kind of loss as you yourself have suffered, but, just the same…”  
  
“No, I understand,” the younger woman commented softly. “How is Elizabeth, though? Have you heard from her at all recently?”  
  
“She sends me letters, refuses to tell me exactly where she lives or what her cell phone number is. I think she’s afraid that I’ll try to track her down and beg her come home, and her fears are justified, because that’s exactly what I’d do.” Taking a fortifying, deep breath, the nurse pressed on, “but she’s successful, I know that much. She’s working as a nurse somewhere in New York City.” She knew that she could have her investigated, but Audrey refused to to do such a thing, not because of a sense of respect towards her granddaughter's privacy but in fear that she'd push Elizabeth even further away.  
  
“But what about her artwork? I remember Emily telling me how talented and dedicated she was at painting.”  
  
“Oh, she gave that up years ago,” Audrey lamented, once again feeling responsible. Forcing herself to sound more cheerful, she changed the topic. “But she’s dating someone, a fascinatingly talented young doctor by the name of Patrick Drake. In fact, he’s the very son of Noah Drake. I’m sure you remember him.”  
  
“I do,” the blonde remarked, grinning slightly. “And I’ve heard of Patrick as well. He’s a neurosurgeon, one of the best in his field, in fact.”  
  
“So Elizabeth has told me…”  
  
“So, she’s happy then?”  
  
“Now, that I could not say,” the older woman confessed. “She tells me nothing of her feelings, of her personal life. In her letters, she merely informs of the crude, elementary details necessary to let her old, doddering grandmother know that she’s still alive and physically well.”  
  
With that, silence descended upon the two women, and they both continued to eat their lunch, neither of them actually tasting the food they were swallowing. However, if Audrey would have been aware of Monica’s thoughts, her own would have been much more pleasant, for, as they sat there in their unobtrusive table at The Grille, the younger woman was forming a plan, one that she would soon take directly to her chief of staff husband.

} ~ {

She absolutely hated being pregnant.  
  
Alexis was sure – no, scratch that – she _knew_ that such a sentiment towards her unborn child was politically incorrect. Even in today’s feminist society, a woman was supposed to embrace swollen feet, a distended stomach, and strange mood swings, but she couldn’t. She didn’t feel serene and loving like all the books and movies told her she should feel; she felt pissed off, resentful, and agitated. Directly, it wasn’t her unborn child’s fault that she was feeling that way, but, indirectly, she could link every negative emotion she had been experiencing for the past seven months back to the sperm whale growing inside of her.  
  
And that was another thing different about Alexis than other mothers. While most women seemed to want to protect their children from the harsh, ugly truths of the world for as long as possible, the lawyer was determined to tell her son or daughter everything they needed to know to make informed, smart decisions as soon as possible. After all, no kid of hers was going to be stupid enough to have an unplanned pregnancy with the local mob boss… no matter how charming his dimples were.  
  
Sonny was the main cause of her problems. He was just always around. Before she was pregnant with his child, their little flirtatious banter had been fun, but she had never seen it going anywhere. When she had ended up in bed with him, Alexis had known it to be a mistake even before the Cuban rolled off of her, but it had been too late at that point. Lust and sentimentality had never gotten her anywhere in the past. Ned and their aborted wedding was proof enough of that, and she was determined, after that one night with Sonny, that she wouldn’t make the same mistake of impetuosity again. So far, she had been successful.  
  
She had married him to both appease the don and to feel as though she had the upper hand. Their’s, so far, was a marriage of convenience, at least in her eyes, and Alexis was determined to keep it that way. Her husband was convinced that he was in love with her, but Sonny was also the same man who believed himself in love with Carly so many times that he married the blonde harpy more than once, so she didn’t exactly trust his easily given emotional platitudes. No, marriage for the attorney had been a bargaining chip. It got the mob boss off her back somewhat, and even she could agree that she didn’t want her son or daughter born a bastard. She herself had lived under that stigma her entire life. If she could help it, no child of hers ever would.  
  
Not that she planned on having more than one baby, because she wasn’t. This pregnancy had been a complete and, if she was honest with herself, unwanted surprise. But, just like all the obstacles in her life, Alexis had tackled it, making the best out of a situation that was pretty much impossible. She didn’t need to be told that she wasn’t mother material; she was already very much aware of the fact.  
  
An orphaned child of an affair, the only maternal influence she had as a kid growing up was Helena Cassadine, and Helena would have killed her if she thought she could have gotten away with it. How was she supposed to translate that upbringing into being a positive, loving role model to her own child? Alexis wasn’t naïve. She knew that she wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. She didn’t pass other mothers with their babies on the street and stop long enough to coo nonsensically. Rather, she varied her path to avoid their caravan of baby paraphernalia. Where most people adored ‘the new baby scent’ as it was called, it made her sneeze. And the idea of changing a dirty diaper was scary enough to compel her to look into hiring a full time nanny.  
  
She wasn’t completely cold and heartless. She loved her child… in a very abstract way. She loved the idea of someone always being there, someone whom she could love without rules or expectations, without fear of recrimination or backstabbing, and she had to admit, even if only to herself, that the clothes she had been buying for her baby were quite adorable in their tiny, soft manner. The problem was that she was well aware of her limitations as a woman, and she was not meant to be nurturing. Hell, all her plants died, she could only cook popcorn, and she had completely given up attempting to do her own laundry for fear that she would catch the dryer on fire. Again.  
  
It was in that mindset that she ran into someone, stumbled, and would have fallen off her small tugboat sized feet if a steadying hand would not have reached out to assist her. Grateful, Alexis smiled in the other person’s direction, glancing up once she was sure her equilibrium was on the horizon if not completely located again. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’m afraid I’m more susceptible to the law of gravity these days. Science is a cruel and vindictive beast when it comes to pregnant women, but, lucky you, you’ve never had that experience, right? You’ve managed to become the mother of two children without a single day of pregnancy. If I wasn’t so appreciative for the save, I’d hate you right now.”  
  
Nadine laughed softly. “Hello, Miss Davis… or should I call you Mrs. Corinthos now?”  
  
“Don’t you dare,” the attorney threatened her, motioning towards the sitting area off to the side of the nurse’s station. “I’d never speak to you again if you were to use my regrettable married name.”  
  
The younger woman smirked. “So, wedded bliss must be epidemic in Port Charles then?”  
  
“Oh, are you and Nikolas having trouble?”  
  
Blushing slightly, the nurse shook her head. “Never mind about me. How are you doing? I take it you just came from a checkup?”  
  
“Do not change the subject,” Alexis snapped, though she wasn’t really angry just annoyed. “Just because I’m pregnant does not mean that I can’t have an intelligent conversation about something other than the leech living inside of me. Answer my question.”  
  
“We’re getting divorced,” the blonde said plainly. “In fact, Diane Miller will probably be contacting you any day now to speak with you about the case.”  
  
“I take it my wonderfully sympathetic and generous nephew is attempting to put the screws to you? What, is he refusing alimony, because that would just be ridiculous. Nikolas has more than enough money to last him several lifetimes.”  
  
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Nadine was quick to explain. “In fact, he offered me thirty thousand dollars a month in alimony.”  
  
“Well, even for a Cassadine, that seems slightly exorbitant.” Thinking for a moment, the lawyer reasoned, “he must be trying to buy you off.”  
  
“Oh, he is, because he’s trying to keep Spencer from me, while, at the same time, he never wants to see our daughter again.”  
  
“Because she’s not a blood relation,” the older woman surmised. “Yes, if nothing else, the importance of heirs and an aversion to half siblings has certainly been ingrained upon Nikolas.”  
  
“Of course, I want to fight him,” the nurse continued to explain her situation, “and I can only do that if I hire my own representation. Diane told me as much.”  
  
“Well, good for Miss Miller,” Alexis cheered. “Other than her professional reputation, I’m unfamiliar with her, but she’s supremely talented, probably second to only myself. What I don’t understand is why she won’t take the case herself.”  
  
“She’s completely booked, doesn’t have a minute to spare.”  
  
“Yes, but she’s a lawyer. We’re trained to… how should I put this?… perform creatively under stressful situations. Could she just be grandstanding in order to make you pay a higher fee?”  
  
“No,” Nadine was quick to defend the red headed attorney. “While she might do that with any other client, she wouldn’t do that to me. You see, my younger brother, Damien, he works for her. Because she herself couldn’t take the case, she recommend that I consider hiring you, but I couldn’t impose upon you right now. Not only is Nikolas your nephew…”  
  
“One that I haven’t spoken to in years,” the pregnant woman interrupted. And that was the truth of the matter. After she disagreed with his decision to marry – not because she didn't like or approve of Emily Quartermaine but because of how young the two of them were at the time, he had shunned her, cut her out of the family, and denied even having an aunt. “I’m sorry, but your husband is a giant ass. I’m, quite frankly, ashamed of him. So, if my familial connection is the only thing preventing you from officially asking me to take this case, please, don’t even consider it.”  
  
“But there’s also the fact that you’re preg…”  
  
“Do not finish that sentence.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“Shut up,” Alexis barked, glaring at the younger woman. “Yes, I’m expecting a baby in two months, but I happen to think that my current condition makes me even more qualified for this case. Not only are my hormones completely out of control, rendering me an angry mess, but I’ll have that appropriate sense of judgmental wrath to rain down upon your soon-to-be ex-husband for the way that he is treating both you and your children. Nadine, if you haven’t realized it already, I want this case. I’m bored to death filing coffee invoices. This is just the thing to get my brain functioning correctly again. In fact, I’m not even going to give you a choice. I am going to represent you, I’m going to win, and I’m going to do it for free. Consider it an early divorce gift.”  
  
“People give those?”  
  
“They should,” the attorney contended, standing up to leave. “After all, divorce is much more worthy of celebration than marriage, and, trust me, given my own current marital situation, if anyone should know this fact to be true, it’s me. I can’t wait to divorce my husband.”  
  
Walking away, Alexis had to admit that she felt slightly better. However, her statement about leaving Sonny at the end wasn’t just grandstanding in order to make the pretty blonde nurse laugh… which it did. As she boarded the elevator, her guard shadowing her onto the lift, she realized that she really didn’t see herself married to the Cuban for the rest of her life. While she might have said the vows during the ceremony, they had been empty, contractual words to her, words that, as a lawyer, she knew exactly how to break. It was only a matter of time…

} ~ {

It wasn’t odd for his respected employer to do business with Anthony Zacchara. In fact, Diane had been the don’s sole legal representation for many years. He himself had met the older man a few times too many, for Anthony always managed to make him feel uncomfortable and self-aware. However, it reassured Spinelli that someone as adept at her job as the Brusque Lady of Justice was was the one to be responsible for controlling the Zacchara empire. She seemed to have a way to keep the known racketeer in line, and, because of her no nonsense attitude, Anthony seemed to respect her… despite the fact that she was a woman.  
  
However, he had never before been privy to any business dealings between the head of the Zacchara organization and his deplorable brother-in-law. While he had no illusions about Nikolas’ morals, for he knew the man to be as unscrupulous as they came, he had believed him to exist outside of the underworld practically all of Port Charles’ businessmen seemed involved in. For a prince, wasn’t such a thing disgraceful? The realization that his judgment had been so fundamentally erroneous rocked the computer hacker slightly, but the legal documents that he held in his hands proved that Nikolas Cassadine did indeed lay down with the dogs; he was in bed with Anthony Zacchara.  
  
Typically, they employed curriers to carry contracts to and from clients, but, given the confidential nature of the papers he currently was in possession of and his own instincts, there Spinelli was, after traversing the rather perilous launch that connected Spoon Island to the main land, delivering the legal materials himself. He wanted to see both Nikolas’ reaction to the documents and to the knowledge that he, Spinelli, was privy to the prince’s dealings. Not that he expected the head of the Cassadine family to explain his actions, for he knew better than that, but that instantaneous, perceptible flash of recognition upon the prince’s face would tell him so much when he pieced together the reasoning for the young college student’s visit, and, of course, as soon as Spinelli had the reaction he sought, he would inform his sister of her soon-to-be ex-husband’s dastardly transactions.  
  
However, such a surprise attack was not to be, for, when he stepped into the study of Wyndamere, it was he who felt taken aback. In only a pair of unbuttoned dress pants, his brother-in-law stood groping and kissing a robe clad blonde woman. No doubt, the robe the harlot wore was his own sister’s, something she forgot to pack in her haste to leave the gothic mausoleum that she had considered her home for several years. It was just one more transgression, just one more insult to add to the innumerable others, but this one affront angered Spinelli far more than the others. It made him wonder how many other women there had been during the years Nadine was married to Nikolas, and the sheer offense of such a thought horrified and incensed the college student.  
  
“Is this the way you plan to raise your son, my nephew,” he spat out, his disgust spewing forth from his rigid, tense body like a poison flowing smoothly from a glass bottle. “No doubt, you see nothing wrong with your dishonorable actions.”  
  
Nikolas sighed, obviously exasperated by the interruption. Without even bothering to fix his appearance, he looked past the blonde’s shoulder to glare at the younger man. “Why are you here? Who gave you permission to enter?”  
  
“Your humble manservant…”  
  
“Oh, would you quit already with the florid language,” the prince warned, his hand rising in irritation only to land roughly, loudly on the wide expanse of his mahogany desk. “Say what you mean for once, Damien.”  
  
Swallowing nervously, Spinelli said, “Alfred told me that I could find you here. I bring with me the legal documents that, once signed, transfer ownership of the docks on Spoon Island temporarily to…”  
  
“That will be all,” the dark haired man interrupted, attempting to dismiss the young hacker. “You can leave now. I’ll sign the paperwork when I’m finished here, and I’ll have them sent over later.”  
  
It was queer how the prince stopped him from saying the name of his new business partner, but, when his accomplice in his illicit ways turned her head to glance upon him, the glorified secretary understood his brother-in-law’s secrecy. It wouldn’t do at all to let the ex-wife of Sonny Corinthos know that Nikolas was now a partner of his competitor, Anthony Zacchara. Though he himself would have relished decimating the unfaithful man’s plans, he knew better than to alienate either the prince or the prince’s new associate by divulging their now mutual interests.  
  
Instead, he argued, “if it is not too much trouble, my employer would like the contracts signed in my presence so that I may return them to her post haste. As you are well aware, the nature of these documents are extremely sensitive, and, if they were to fall in the wrong hands, I fear what the ramifications of such a mistake might be.”  
  
“Fine,” Nikolas agreed, grimacing. “Bring them here then.”  
  
“I would prefer if you were to cross to me, for I do not wish to be any nearer to your debauched dalliance than I already am. Your behavior sickens me. Not only are you my sister’s husband still, for your separation has not yet been legalized, but you are also the father to both my niece and my nephew, and I fear for their future if this is the way their father believes is a proper way to conduct his personal affairs.”  
  
As he sauntered towards him, the older man countered, “or maybe you’re embarrassed. Come on, Damien,” he snickered, grabbing the folder of paper’s the hacker held tightly in his hands, practically ripping them in the process. “We all know how backwards you are, how inexperienced you are with the opposite sex. For a while there, I wondered if you batted for the other team and was just unaware of the fact. However, now, I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re just a eunuch.” At the dark haired man’s pronouncement, Spinelli reddened in both humiliation and rage. “Maybe being this close to two adults enjoying each other’s sexual company makes you uncomfortable, not because of your moral superiority but because you know that it’s something you yourself will never experience. Here,” the prince added, shoving the now signed papers back into the college student’s hands. “Now, leave my home, and do not come back. Ever. If Diane needs more papers signed in the future, please contact my secretary and set up a time for me to come into the office. I wouldn’t want us to ever repeat this sorry, unfortunate turn of events again. Would you?”  
  
With the prince’s deep laughter and Carly Corinthos’ feminine giggles nipping callously at his heels, Spinelli fled from the study of Wyndamere, never once looking back. Despite his personal anguish, though, he was still determined to relay his new knowledge to his sister. Now, not only did he want Nadine to gain custody of both her children in order to provide them with a better life, but he also wanted the prince to be hurt, and somehow, someway, he was determined to make sure he had a hand in injuring him. By nature, he was usually a kind, generous soul, but he wasn’t a pushover, and Nikolas Cassadine had just gone too far. He would only learn of his mistake, though, when it was too late. No one treated him that way, and more importantly, no one treated his sister that way and got away with it. The Crowell family was made of thicker skin than that.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

As Jason Morgan laid in wait of his target, he found himself wondering if he had, perhaps, miscalculated by just showing up at Crimson Pointe armed, ready, and dangerous instead of doing his research first. Obviously, as he looked around the extensive grounds, such an assumption had been a poor one, because Anthony Zacchara’s home was nothing like he had imagined it to be. Whereas most mobsters attempted to surround themselves in enough opulence and richness to mask, at least to the outside eye, their low, petty criminal beginnings, the Zacchara mansion was old and worn in, almost tired in appearance.  
  
It was evident, though, that the staff took good care of it, and, at one time, the furnishings had been the best that money could buy, but it wasn’t showy; it wasn’t a prized piece of artwork. Rather, it was the garden that was meticulously maintained. Instead of pouring money into a home he himself now lived in alone, Anthony Zacchara lavished thousands upon thousands of dollars on his rose garden. It was clearly more than a hobby. In fact, judging by its sheer size and grandeur, Jason would hazard to guess that it was the old man’s obsession, and, while he had known men before who had obsessions – with women, with power, with drugs, he wasn’t sure how to approach the head of the Zacchara family now that he knew of Anthony’s peculiarity.  
  
But he refused to allow his surprise to show. Rather, he kept his cool, the calm that he was known for and the calm that had helped him survive this long in the business. Surely, it wouldn’t let him down now. Hidden and out of sight, he waited for the don to arrive, having no doubt that he would, too, for it was well known amongst the servants that Anthony had a routine. When he finished with his paperwork and other business duties at precisely five o’clock, he would go up to his suite of private rooms, change his clothes, and then go out into the gardens, sometimes even refusing to stop his pruning, and his weeding, and his watering in order to eat dinner.  
  
However, despite being assured that his miscalculation wouldn’t lead to his head on one of the Zacchara’s antique silver platters, Jason was still annoyed with himself, but the irritation practically seemed natural at this point. He had been in a bad mood, had been angry for so long now that he rarely even noticed it anymore. Taggert’s once _affectionate_ pet nickname for him, Angerboy, had now, finally, come to be true, and being back in Port Charles only seemed to make his mood even darker.  
  
He was mad at Sonny. His supposed partner and best friend had been keeping so much from him. After sending him away over five years ago to take care of a job, he had played it off as though everything with the business was alright at home, as though his presence wasn’t needed, but, now, here he was, back and dancing to the devil’s whim. Somehow, Sonny had gotten himself in bed with Anthony Zacchara, a known unscrupulous mob boss, and he was the one who was going to pay the price. He was the one who was expected to clean up the mess, once again, while, at the same time, Sonny went home to his latest version of the perfect, American family.  
  
While Jason was still alone, still childless, Sonny had tossed away Carly and Michael, the little boy that he himself had loved and raised for an entire year as his own son, in favor of having an affair with their attorney, knocking her up, and trying again for the Norman Rockwell lifestyle that was just impossible in their world. Soon, just like with Carly, Sonny would either get bored of Alexis, or she would leave him, tired of the violence, tired of the lies, tired of the effort it took to pretend, and the enforcer, for one, wouldn’t blame the lawyer if and when she did so. In his opinion, his boss and or partner, depending upon Sonny’s disposition, used love and children as Band-Aids for bullet wounds. For a little while, it would contain the bleeding, but, eventually, the dam would break, and, when it did, he would start to bleed out, and that’s when he would spin out of control. However, this time, the blonde wouldn’t be the one to clean up the damage.  
  
He was mad at Johnny O’Brien, too. The man had been his friend, the third in line of power in their organization, and he had to go and side with the enemy. Although Jason was unsure of what had driven the Irishman to such extreme lengths, he selfishly was pissed at the guard. To him, it didn’t matter if Johnny’s actions were justified, if Sonny had deserved such disloyalty from his own men. What did was the fact that Johnny’s defection now put him in a tight position. All the time that he had been gone, he had believed that O’Brien was there, watching out for everyone, fulfilling his duties. Now, that he knew that Johnny was, in fact, dead, it was going to be harder to just walk away the next time and trust Sonny to run things while he was gone.  
  
Then there was also a burning rage towards every other man in the organization. If they knew that things were disintegrating so rapidly, if they knew of Johnny jumping ship and Sonny losing control thread by unraveling thread, why didn’t anybody contact him? While he might be able to disappear better than anyone else he knew, practically evaporating into the air like some kind of ghost, he wasn’t impossible to locate. It could be done, especially by someone who had years and years of mafia experience, someone like Francis. But had there been a single phone call, a single letter? No. Instead, he had been allowed to go on, totally obvious to everything he had helped to build and maintain crumbling down around his partner’s ears.  
  
There was anger towards Anthony Zacchara for obvious reasons as well, both for involving him in Sonny’s mess by requesting his help and for sending him riddles in the mail. He was annoyed with the fact that the old man even had a son and that Johnny Zacchara was willing to go along with his father’s demands. He was pissed with the Quartermaines, still, even after all the years that had passed, for how they had treated him after his accident. Maybe if they had been different, if they had treated him differently, then he wouldn’t have made such rash decisions about his life; maybe he wouldn’t be the one who was constantly called upon to clean up other people’s messes. And he was irritated, unjustifiably and selfishly, with his sister for dying on him. If he only still had Emily, then things for him, Jason felt, could be so much different, perhaps better. She had always been a steadying presence in his life, his rock… even when everyone believed him to be the strong, dependable sibling.  
  
But most of all he was furious with one person and one person only: _her_. But the hitman refused to think about the brunette who had been torturing his thoughts day in and day out for five years. If he allowed himself the self-inflicted punishment, the pleasure of seeing her face in his mind’s eye, of recalling her smile, or her frown, or her laughter, then he would lose all sense of time and place, and he would be no good to himself or anyone else, and, if nothing else was crystal clear, it was evident that he needed his every sense and faculty to be working as seamlessly as possible. While Anthony Zacchara might be old, his mind was still young and sharp. After all, a man didn’t get the reputation that the racketeer possessed by making idle threats.  
  
So, by pushing his rage to the back of his mind, allowing it to simmer and boil as a way to inspire him but, at the same time, curtailing it enough to focus, Jason remained seated on the stone bench that was opposite of the garden shed that Anthony Zacchara would have to enter in order to retrieve his supplies. His ears were alert for any sound the small, old man might make as he approached, his eyes were trained on the point of the path where the mob boss would first appear, and the gun in his right hand was steady with control and practice.  
  
Five, and then ten, and then, finally, fifteen minutes slipped past, and, as the invisible clock in the enforcer’s mind approached a quarter after five, he heard the first sounds of shuffling feet moving along the crushed limestone paths of the garden. Anthony Zacchara was moving loosely, unhurriedly, and the obvious ease of the man’s steps made Jason feel even more confident that his enemy had no idea that he was there. So, when the crime lord rounded the last bend and continued to amble his way towards the small building that contained all his gardening tools, Jason stood and straightened his firing arm out so that the weapon was perfectly positioned for maximum damage.  
  
“The games stop now, Anthony.”  
  
“Why, it's Mr. Morgan, I do believe,” the smiling gentleman greeted as he spun around to face his confronter. “Isn’t this a pleasure? I do hope that you’ve taken the time to walk around my garden, to take in the wonderful, hypnotizing scent of my beloved roses.”  
  
Advancing a step, the blonde simply stated, “shut up.”  
  
“Well, that’s certainly no way to speak to your host. And here I thought the two of us were going to get along so well.”  
  
Raising his voice to make sure that the other Mafioso understood that he wasn’t joking around, Jason yelled, “quit fucking playing with me.”  
  
But the Zacchara boss remained perfectly composed, and he showed absolutely no signs of being intimidated or even nervous while staring down the barrel of the hitman’s shiny glock. “You’re the one who is attempting to play a game of hide and seek right now with me, and you’re also the one who appears to want to play Russian roulette. Just for the record, that happens to be my favorite.”  
  
“My gun is fully loaded.”  
  
“What a shame,” Anthony remarked, sighing and sounding almost wistful. “Your generation really doesn’t understand the art of subtlety, does it?”  
  
He ignored the dig. “Why did you send me that picture?”  
  
“Oh, but that wasn’t just _any_ picture, Mr. Morgan,” the older man corrected him, grinning smugly. “That was a sonogram.”  
  
“All the same, why did you send it?”  
  
“To get your attention, of course.”  
  
“Well, you succeeded,” he remarked.  
  
While laughing and sounding to Jason’s ears completely unbalanced, Anthony stated, “obviously.”  
  
“And what does it mean?”  
  
“Why don’t you tell me,” his enemy responded. “Or, better yet, why don’t you ask your boss. Just moments ago, you accused me of playing games, but I happen to believe that it’s your friend Sonny who has been playing with you all this time. That’s his MO; not mine. I just want you to train my son, and, speaking of John…” The grey haired man swept a hand out grandly towards the path he himself had just been on moments before. “Here he is.”  
  
Joining the fray, the younger Zacchara wanted to know, “what’s going on here?”  
  
“Mr. Morgan decided to pay us a friendly, little visit.”  
  
The dark haired man smirked at his father. “And I’m sure you had nothing to do with inspiring his trip down here, right?”  
  
Without showing a response, Jason sized up the kid, the man he was supposed to prepare to take over the Zacchara organization. While unruffled on the outside by either his presence or the presence of his weapon, Johnny Zacchara still had his body positioned so as to protect it as much as possible, and he certainly didn’t roll over or swallow what his father said word for word. While still being respectful, he was his own man, and Jason could admire that. He still didn’t like the idea of being someone’s teacher, but, if doing so got him the answers he was now seeking, then so be it. Plus, he had a feeling that Johnny was in over his head as he was forced into a life he didn’t choose for himself and quite clearly didn’t want.  
  
Lowering his weapon, he spoke in a relaxed tone. “I’ll be in touch to set up our first meeting.”  
  
And, just like that, before either Zacchara could react or respond, he slipped back into the garden, disappearing into the labyrinth of rose bushes. Just like with the temperamental flowers, one had to be careful when handling a delicate situation, because one wrong step, one wrong move, and a man could be sliced by an unforeseen thorn, and Jason did not intend to bleed again for anyone. Sonny had almost cost him his life once; there would be no repeat performance.

} ~ {

Never had he thought that dinner with one of his best friends would ever be awkward, but it was, and Jax blamed the fact on the negative effect time and circumstance can have on a relationship, any relationship, even one that had previously been so strong. Sitting across from Robin in an elegant restaurant in Paris, the corporate raider found himself wondering just what the brunette had on her mind. After all, she was the one who requested his presence in the City of Light; she had been the one to ask him out to dinner.  
  
So far, they had gone down the list of everyone they had in common, discussing any news pertaining to any of their respective loved ones or friends back in Port Charles. “And Alexis,” the doctor posed, twirling a bite of pasta on her fork as she talked. “How is she?”  
  
“Pregnant,” he answered. As he noticed his friend’s eyes fairly pop out of her head, he laughed. “Didn’t expect to hear that, did you?”  
  
“No,” Robin exclaimed rather emphatically before she caught herself. “I just mean… really? She’s pregnant? I never pictured Alexis as the maternal type? She seemed so dedicated to her career.”  
  
“She’s not, and she is, but, just like yourself, she’s learning to make room for a baby. I must say,” the blonde commented, smirking slightly, “we were all a little surprised when you announced that you were adopting a child.”  
  
“And I was surprised when everything fell into place so quickly,” the mother replied. “It felt like one minute I contacted a lawyer, and, in the very next, I was taking home a newborn baby girl. I had been prepared for the whole process to take months, maybe even years.”  
  
“If you don’t mind my asking, what made you want to be a mother?”  
  
“I don’t mind, but don’t think for a second that we’re done discussing your ex-wife, because we’re not,” the brunette warned him good-naturedly. “As for wanting a baby, I guess I just woke up one day and asked myself ‘why not?’ I had a good job, I was as healthy as I would ever be considering, and I felt as though I had a lot to offer a child.”  
  
“You do.”  
  
“Thank you,” Robin smiled, looking slightly more relaxed for the first time that evening. “With Stone’s death and with how awfully my relationship with Jason ended, I realized that it might take a while for me to fall in love again… if I ever do, and I didn’t want to put off being a parent until that point.”  
  
“Is it difficult,” he asked, finding himself curious, “to be a single parent?”  
  
“Well, I don’t really feel that I am one,” his friend confided. “Maxie is terrific with Cate.”  
  
“I would hope so,” the Australian teased her. “After all, she is your nanny.”  
  
The doctor rolled her eyes. “Those two are quite the pair, let me tell you. Sometimes, it feels as though my daughter is more my cousin’s. They’re like two peas in a designer pod.”  
  
“Designer?”  
  
“Oh, Maxie is obsessed with all things fashion, and she has passed that love onto my little girl.”  
  
“And the odd thing is that they kind of look alike, too.”  
  
“I know,” Robin agreed, chuckling softly. “It’s not that weird, considering how many blonde haired, blue eyed people there are in the world, but it does seem odd that my own daughter is absolutely nothing like me. You know,” she admitted, blushing slightly, “when I first filled out the paperwork, requesting an adoption, I had hoped that I would end up with a little boy or girl who looked like Stone. Obviously, at that point, given my daughter’s name, I was thinking a lot about him, but Cate couldn’t look less like Stone than if she tried.”  
  
Jax grinned knowingly. “But that doesn’t matter now, does it, because you couldn’t love her more even if she did?”  
  
“No,” his friend concurred, “I couldn’t. Now,” she coaxed, “tell me more about Alexis.”  
  
“What do you want to know,” the billionaire asked.  
  
“Well, first of all, who’s the father?”  
  
Grimacing, the blonde answered, “Sonny.”  
  
“Oh,” the physician responded, sounding perplexed. “I thought he was with Carly.”  
  
“He was,” the playboy remarked, fairly growling. “The problem was that he was with my ex-wife at the same time, too.”  
  
“If nothing else, Port Charles certainly never changes, does it? It can always be counted on for a good scandal or two. That just makes me want to go home even more.”  
  
“What,” Jax cried out, his voice slightly louder than he intended it to be. “Are you serious? So, that’s why you asked me to dinner, isn’t it?”  
  
“Guilty as charged,” the brunette admitted.  
  
“What brought this about?”  
  
Fully giving up on taking the bite of her food that she had prepared to eat several minutes prior, Robin set her fork down, folded her hands in her lap, and looked him directly in the eye. “Several days ago, I received a conference call from none other than Mercy hospital. I’ve been so consumed with my life here in Paris, with my work, with Cate, that I’ve forgotten that I ran away from a whole other life back home when I came here to go to school all those years ago. Granted, I hear my Uncle Mac’s voice and Georgie’s all the time, but hearing those American doctors on the phone kind of made me feel homesick.”  
  
“I’m not trying to be judgmental or anything,” the corporate raider warned her, “but isn’t that kind of a rash decision on your part? Homesickness passes. Go back to New York… for a vacation, but don’t make any drastic changes yet.”  
  
The doctor smirked. “My cousin Maxie would probably kiss you right now if she were sitting here with us. When I broached the idea of returning to Port Charles with her… let’s just say that she wasn’t as intrigued by the notion as I was. And, no, I don’t take offense to what you said. Hell, I’ve asked myself a million times already if I’m just being sentimental, but I don’t think that I am, Jax; I think that this is seriously something I need to consider, not just for me but, more importantly, for Cate, too.”  
  
“Isn’t she happy living here in Paris?”  
  
“Oh, she is, but she needs a male influence in her life,” Robin answered. “I love her, Maxie loves her, and she has friends here, too, but she’s starting to ask questions – questions about whether or not she’ll ever have a brother and sister, questions about her father, and I just think it would be good for her to spend more time with people other than myself and Maxie. My Uncle Mac practically raised me after my parents were both presumed dead, and he was a wonderful father figure, the best I could have asked for. While I wouldn’t force such a role upon him concerning Cate, I have a feeling he would volunteer.”  
  
The blonde winked at her in agreement. “I think you’re right, and, since this meal has turned into a confessional, I think I have something to admit as well.”  
  
“Out with it,” his friend demanded, grinning. “Don’t keep me in suspense too long. My dinner’s already cold.”  
  
“And I’m going to send it back to the kitchen and have the chef warm it back up for you momentarily, but, first, I want your opinion on something as well.” Mimicking the younger woman’s previous actions, Jax put his own fork down, folded his hands in his lap, and met her gaze. “What would you say if I told you I was considering moving back to Port Charles myself?”  
  
Soberly, the single mother said, “I would have to ask if you are ready to live there without Brenda?” His former love’s name was like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped over the both of them. “We both know her death was the reason why you left town. Over time, it got to the point where you couldn’t handle her ghost anymore. Everywhere you went, Brenda was there, but no one blamed you for leaving; everyone sympathized.”  
  
“Just as you’ve thought about your idea to return, so have I.” Sighing, the businessman revealed, “I’ll always be a little bit in love with her. I’ve accepted as much, but I also know that I’m ready to love again. More importantly, I believe that Alexis needs me there. With her. I know that you’re friends with Corinthos, so I’m not going to say anything more than I don’t think he’s taking good enough care of my ex-wife and their baby. Alexis is seven months along and entirely too stressed for either her good or for the baby’s, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I allowed anything to happen to either of them simply because of my own selfish reasons for staying away from New York.”  
  
“It sounds to me like you’re not really thinking about going home; you’ve already decided to.”  
  
The international tycoon nodded his blonde, handsome head in recognition. “Hello, kettle.”  
  
“Touché, my friend,” Robin responded, laughing softly. “Touché.”  
  
Rubbing his hands together, Jax caught the eye of their waiter and, at the same time, asked, “now, how about I fulfill my promise to make this perfectly good entree edible again?”  
  
“I’d say, Mr. Jax, that you’re still quite the charmer. Thank you.”

} ~ {

“Sorry I’m late,” Patrick Drake apologized as he slid onto the barstool next to Alan, signaling to the bartender with a simple nod of his head that he wanted a drink.  
  
“It’s alright,” the older man returned, thankful that their meeting could finally start. Laughing good-naturedly, he added, “it’s just the life of a surgeon, right?”  
  
“Something you haven’t had to deal with yourself for quite a few years I’ve found out.”  
  
While it didn’t bother the chief of staff that the neurosurgeon had researched him before their meeting, he was slightly insulted by the hotshot’s derogatory tone, as if the younger man believed he was less of a doctor simply because he was no longer wielding a scalpel. It didn’t help matters either that Drake was several hours late. Their post dinner cocktails had turned into a late night cap, for, as they sat in the hotel bar, the clock before them was rapidly approaching midnight. He had already missed his train back home, so he would have to stay over in the city, and that was something Alan hated doing.  
  
In fact, the whole trip down to New York City to meet with the possible hire had been an annoyance. Port Charles wasn’t far enough away to fly; that excess was reserved for those who liked to flaunt their wealth by purchasing private jets, people of the like of Sonny Corinthos, that immoral criminal, and Jasper Jax, a most aggravating rogue. Sure, ELQ had its own plane, but Alan didn’t think it appropriate to use his father’s aircraft when he was performing hospital business, and he certainly couldn’t commandeer GH’s helicopter for the evening.  
  
Although the trip was too short to fly, for the chief of staff it also seemed too long to drive. Taking a bus was out of the question. They stopped too frequently, smelled frightfully, and, by riding a bus, one took the chance that they might end up sitting by some ex-convict or a future one. It was all rather unsettling and no way for him to arrive in New York City, especially when he had an important business meeting to attend while in the city that never sleeps. So, with his other options removed, Alan had elected to take the train, a decision he had believed to be a wise one until he had missed his return trip home.  
  
Refocusing on the younger man sitting beside him, a man who was now slowly enjoying an ice cold beer – obviously the bartender had already been aware of what Patrick drank, the elder doctor replied, “well, my wife is still a practicing cardiologist, so I’m quite used to her canceling dinner reservations on me.”  
  
“Aw, yes, Monica Quartermaine,” the neurosurgeon recalled. “I’ve read about her, too. She has a rather impressive resume, although some of her techniques seem to be slightly out of date.”  
  
Breathing in deeply, the chief of staff allowed the barb against his spouse’s skills to roll off his back. Despite the fact that Drake was pushing all his buttons, he couldn’t react accordingly. They desperately wanted him to come and work at GH, and he could tell already that flattery and promises of great success were the only two things that would persuade the younger physician to leave his comfy life in the city; reprimands and a fiery display of temper would just push him away, probably forever.  
  
“So, tell me, where’s your lovely girlfriend?”  
  
Sitting up straighter, Patrick eyed him warily, and his smile seemed slightly off balanced. “How did you know about Elizabeth?”  
  
Ah, so Monica’s information had been correct. Although he believed Audrey Hardy had been telling his wife what she knew to be the truth, one couldn’t be too careful, especially when Audrey’s granddaughter was so intent upon remaining distanced from her entire family. It would have been the perfect ruse to lie to the nurse and tell her that she was dating someone she wasn’t to throw off the older woman off her track.  
  
Simply stating fact, he replied, “I’ve done my research as well.”  
  
“She’s at work still.” Shrugging his shoulders, laughing, and then taking a long swallow of his beer, the hotshot physician put his bottle down and turned a gaze that practically glowed with dreams and visions of wealth and notoriety towards Alan. “So, let’s get down to the brass tacks, shall we? You want me to come and work for you, and I want to know why exactly I should relocate from the greatest city in the world and come and live in a some two horse town whose main hospital doesn’t even register on the neurosurgery radar.”  
  
“We want to change that.”  
  
Waving him on, Drake instructed, “continue.”  
  
“If you’ve done your research, then you should know that there was a time when we were ranked as one of the best hospital in the country for neurosurgery.”  
  
“Yes,” the younger man returned, agreeing with Alan. “That was when Tony Jones was still operating, but, because of some thug who broke his hand, he can no longer perform surgery.”  
  
“Well, it wasn’t that simple,” the chief of staff found himself explaining. Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen Jason in years, and despite the fact that his son wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, he still felt the need to defend him. While it might be alright for the Quartermaines to refer to him as a thug, they were family; he wouldn’t allow some upshot stranger to do so as well. “Tony had been involved with a kidnapping case at the time.”  
  
“Yeah, I read about that, too,” Patrick continued. “Some slut played with three different men, changing her mind more often than she likely changed her underwear as to who the baby’s father was. I’ll give you this much about Port Charles: it sounds interesting.”  
  
“Oh, there’s never a dull day, that’s for sure.”  
  
“Anyway, it doesn’t really matter to me why Jones no longer operates; what’s important is why you want me to start operating for you.”  
  
“The fact of the matter is that, despite our size, General Hospital seems to get an inordinate amount of head trauma cases.”  
  
“Many of which,” the younger man questioned, “are the result of mob violence, correct?”  
  
“Yes, there is a strong presence of organized crime in our town.” Taking a deep breath, he pressed on. “When we receive these cases, Tony does whatever he can to ease the patients’ suffering, but, because he can’t operate, most of them are sent on to another hospital. I’m tired of not being able to treat the people who seek our help. That’s where you come in.”  
  
“But I treat people here. Are you saying that your patients are more worthy than the ones I already have?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Alan defended. “I just want a neurosurgeon. However, you want fame. You want to be known as the best damn neurosurgeon in the country.”  
  
“Now, you’re talking.”  
  
“And I can help you accomplish that,” he promised.  
  
“How?”  
  
“It’s simple, really. Here, you’re competing with dozens of other surgeons who have the same credentials as you do. Some might be better; some might be worse, but, most of the time, at least with trauma cases, it’s all about availability. At GH, you’d be our only neurosurgeon. Every case would be yours. Eventually, when the program started to get some press, we’d permit you to start bringing in surgeons to study under you. You’d get your own staff, allowing you to pick and choose which cases you want. It would be your show in Port Charles; here, in New York, you just fill a supporting role.”  
  
“Wow, you don’t hold back any punches, do you,” Drake wanted to know, chuckling softly.  
  
“Well, I’m tired, if you want the honest truth,” the older physician stated without embarrassment. “I figured why tap dance around the issue when I can march right up to it?”  
  
“I can certainly appreciate the approach,” Patrick said, standing up to offer Alan his hand. “And I appreciate the offer, too.”  
  
“Does that mean that you’ll consider it?”  
  
“I will,” the hotshot doctor promised. “I’ll be in touch with you within a few days with my answer.”  
  
Shaking his hand, the chief of staff said, “I look forward to hearing from you.”  
  
As Patrick walked away, Alan reached into his jacket pocket and removed his cell phone. After paying for their respective drinks at the bar, he wandered out of the restaurant and towards the check in desk where he would get a room for the night. While waiting, though, he would call Monica. There was no doubt in his mind that she was waiting up for him, eager to hear a report, and, while he wouldn’t be able to give it to her face to face, over the phone would be better than nothing. Their plan was officially underway; now it was just up to Drake… and a little bit of luck.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Walking into the anteroom of her office, Diane Miller went to throw her coat onto her assistant’s desk as she did every morning, a move that was very reminiscent of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, one of the most influential films, she believed, of her lifetime, when she happened to notice just how wan her young secretary appeared that day. Typically, she prided herself on being a very unattached boss. She didn’t intrude upon the college student’s life, and she certainly didn’t vent her own frustrations on him simply because he was available and paid to listen to anything she might have to say. However, on that particular morning, dressed in yet another new pair of designer heels, she was feeling rather charitable, so she asked a question she really wasn’t quite comfortable with.  
  
“What’s wrong, Mr. Grasshopper?”  
  
And, for what was perhaps the very first time in his life, Spinelli was plain spoken... well, for him. “The Portentous Prince is… boffing The Ex-Moll of Port Charles.”  
  
“Nikolas and Carly Quartermaine Corinthos,” the attorney announced, her eyes going wide with the implications of her latest procured piece of gossip. “Now there’s an unholy alliance.”  
  
“Of a biblical proportion,” the hacker agreed, his voice gaining the necessary pitch to express his righteous indignation. “Why it’s worse than…”  
  
“Okay, stop right there,” she commanded him. “We do not have time for you to wax poetic for fifteen minutes while you offer appropriate comparisons. Have you told your sister about this yet?”  
  
“Alas, I have not,” her assistant lamented. “At first, my plan was to rush to her side and share with her this most distressing news. After all, surely it will have some impact upon her divorce.”  
  
“Most assuredly.”  
  
“However, upon further deliberation, I realized that such a hasty action might, in fact, hurt Nadine more than it could help her. Before I spoke with her,” the young genius shared, “I wanted to seek wiser counsel than I myself could offer.”  
  
“You got sick on the launch going back to the mainland, didn’t you,” Diane realized.  
  
With a quirk of his lips and a rather floppy shake of his equally floppy head, her Mr. Grasshopper agreed. “However, I did find out that my beloved sibling quite literally ran into the esteemed Miss Davis yesterday at the hospital, and she spoke to her about taking her case.”  
  
“And,” the red head prompted, “don’t leave me in suspense.”  
  
“My sister has now found her champion,” Spinelli announced triumphantly, punching a fist into the air only to accidentally hit it against the filing cabinet that was positioned behind his desk. Cradling the injured hand, he whimpered, “call a doctor.”  
  
“Oh, buck up, buttercup. Your hand will be just fine.”  
  
“I think it’s broken,” he complained.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Diane stated, “you’ll be lucky if you even bruise. Now, ring up Alexis Davis,” she directed him, taking a seat on the corner of her secretary’s desk. “I think it would be wise if we shared with her first this little interesting, juicy piece of… evidence you procured yesterday.” Once the young man had dialed, with his uninjured hand, she whispered, “and pretend that this is a real conference call. We don’t need the competition to find out that we’re powwowing in the reception area of this office.  
  
“As you prefer, Miss Miller,” the hacker obliged.  
  
After three rings, a bored, rather distracted voice picked up the line and said, “Alexis Davis’ office, how may I help you?”  
  
Ignoring the orders that she had just herself given her assistant, the attorney queried, “Alexis, is that you?”  
  
“Diane Miller?”  
  
“Yes, it’s me.”  
  
“But why are you calling me directly? Don’t you have a secretary to do those things for you?”  
  
“Oh, I’m here,” Spinelli intervened, alerting the other lawyer of his presence. “My employer, I believe, was just startled by the fact that you yourself don’t have a subordinate to answer the phone for you.”  
  
“Well, that’s what happens when you’re seven months pregnant and too big to fit behind a desk. You start working from home,” Alexis snapped.  
  
Taking the reins of the conversation that was quickly getting out of the control, the red head informed her counterpart, “we have some good news concerning the Cassadine divorce case.”  
  
“I hardly find the unfortunate intelligence that my arrogant brother-in-law is cheating on my sister to be of the satisfactory variety,” Spinelli interjected crossly.  
  
“But it is,” Alexis sighed, suddenly sounding enthusiastic and energetic. “It’s really rather wonderful news. It’s just the sort of scandal I need to paint Nikolas as the scourge of the earth and Nadine as the poor, wronged wife. Juries and judges eat this stuff up.”  
  
“Exactly my sentiments, Miss Davis,” Diane concurred. “That’s why I insisted that Mr. Grasshopper call you immediately when he informed me about this latest development.”  
  
“Mr. Grasshopper?”  
  
“Oh, yes, well, that’s just what I call Damien, you see,” the single attorney explained.  
  
“If you ever get sick of your boss, Mr. Spinelli,” Alexis informed him. “Come see me, and I’ll help you sue her.”  
  
“He’ll do no such thing!”  
  
“If I may just interrupt this little… friendly chat,” the currently being discussed assistant beseeched. “There is something else that I… might have accidentally overheard as I was leaving the study at Wyndamere yesterday.”  
  
“So you were eavesdropping,” Diane inferred.  
  
Spinelli just ignored her. “After they believed me to have gone, the Prince and his libertine paramour began to discuss a man by the name of Jason Morgan. Now, I’m not sure why, but this name stood out to me as someone of whom I should already be aware of, but, at the same time, I could not place as to where I had heard of him before. Is he, perhaps, an expert divorce lawyer, a private investigator, or maybe he’s an…”  
  
“He’s a mob enforcer,” Alexis stated simply. “What exactly were they saying about Jason?”  
  
“Just that he’s back in town, supposedly,” the young hacker shared, “but no one seems to know where to find him.”  
  
“Oh, this is not good, not good at all.”  
  
“What do you mean by that, Miss Davis,” Diane demanded to know. “How does one more criminal in this town have an influence upon Mr. Grasshopper’s sister’s case?”  
  
“It doesn’t; he doesn’t have an influence,” the questioned attorney responded. “However, his reappearance does bear upon my personal life. Jason is Sonny’s… cleaner.”  
  
“Ah, so he handles all the dirty work,” the red head realized.  
  
“Yes, and, because he’s back in town, that makes me slightly concerned. Typically, from what I’ve come to understand, Jason’s arrival signifies an increase in danger. He’s only brought in for the really serious sort of… disagreements.” Composing herself, the other lawyer stated, “if you’ll excuse me, I really must be going. I appreciate the call, though. This will definitely help your sister’s case, Mr. Spinelli.”  
  
“I’m always willing to contribute in any way I possibly can.”  
  
“One more thing,” Alexis asked of him. “Please don’t say anything about this to Nadine. I need to be the one to broach the topic with her.”  
  
With an audible sigh of relief, the secretary agreed most readily. “I won’t, I promise.”  
  
And, with that, the pregnant attorney hung up. Narrowing her gaze at her assistant, Diane remarked, “well, that was certainly odd at the very end… and informative. Just what exactly do you think is going on in the Corinthos camp that would cause Jason Morgan to return to town? I bet Mr. Zacchara would know.”  
  
“You’re not going to… ask him any questions, are you?”  
  
“Of course not,” she dismissed, hopping off Spinelli’s desk. “I’m not a fool. You don’t ask a mob boss a question unless you’re prepared for his answer, and I don’t think anyone is ever truly ready for anything Anthony ever has to say.” With a brisk nod, she proceeded to her own office, only coming back out to toss her coat upon her assistant’s desk, because she had forgotten to earlier. After all, routines must be adhered to.

} ~ {

She was on the cardio floor that morning, one of the divisions of the hospital that she preferred. While it sounded callous and unsympathetic, Elizabeth liked the fact that most heart patients were too sick to worry about getting to know her. Patients who were in the hospital to have a baby, to undergo an outpatient procedure, even those who came in for their chemo treatments, they would often want to talk, to find out who she was, why she became a nurse, and what she wanted for herself in the future, but the young brunette hated talking.  
  
She could make small, mindless conversation when needed. After all, one didn’t date an up and coming, brash neurosurgeon if they thought they weren’t going to be displayed as arm candy at all the medically related parties. She could discuss the ballet with the Chief of Staff’s wife. Sometimes, she was forced to feign an interest in sports when a male colleague cornered her at an event. And some of the young doctors and nurses even liked to engage her in little locker room chats, seeing as how Patrick was famous for his bedside manner in and out of the operating room.  
  
However, the one thing that Elizabeth could not talk about was herself. Her past was forbidden territory, for it was just too painful to rehash. In fact, there was no one in New York City who knew much of anything about where she came from and who she was before she became Nurse Webber. Even her boyfriend knew only the bare essentials, and what those were she herself determined. So, it was a relief to take care of patients who didn’t want to talk to her, and she took advantage of the opportunity whenever it presented itself.  
  
Outside of the hospital – not that she spent much time away from the establishment, the mind your own business New York attitude served her well… as did the fact that she never had to take the subway. She could ride in the backseat of one of the thousands of taxis that swarmed the narrow avenues and streets of Manhattan, totally oblivious to her driver, and, when she walked, everyone else was as determined to reach their destination as she was; there was no lingering on the corners to share a cute anecdote, and no one stopped you in the middle of the crosswalk to play catch up. Yes, as far as Elizabeth was concerned, if she had accomplished nothing else over the past five years, she had, at least, found her home. She belonged in New York City.  
  
As she was making her way towards the front desk, finished with her morning rounds and needing a new assignment, it was with irritation that she realized that she had somehow, somewhere picked up a shadow. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized her follower as one of her fellow nurses, a bubbly, overly friendly young maternity floor nurse who had no business being on the cardio floor. It was obvious that she wanted something, so, instead of allowing her to lag behind like a puppy dog for a few, trying minutes, annoying the hell out of her, she decided that she would just confront the pesky, little gnat right then and right there.  
  
Spinning around on the heels of her plain white, comfortable tennis shoes, the petite brunette faced off against her antagonist. With her arms folded tightly against her chest and her eyes narrowed, she demanded, “what?”  
  
“Oh,” the other woman squeaked in surprise, evidently not expecting to be confronted so quickly or so pointedly. Her eyes became wide, gray saucers filled with innocence and natural warmth, and her pretty, rosebud mouth skewed itself into a comical, gaping circle. In Elizabeth’s opinion, she looked like a scared guppy. Apparently, refusing to give in and admit her purpose so soon, the maternity nurse returned the question with her own softly spoken, “hm?”  
  
“You were following me.”  
  
“No, I just happened to be walking down this hall…”  
  
“Stop,” she interrupted, shuttering her own sapphire gaze to hide the level of her aggravation. “You don’t work on this floor. I know it, and you know, so, to save us both some time, just tell me what you want.” When the ash blonde still refused to answer, she prompted, “what, did you need me to fill in a shift for you or something?”  
  
“It’s nothing like that,” her shadow stepped forward, positioning herself closer to Elizabeth as though their physical proximity would somehow reassure her further. It did the exact opposite. “In fact, I’m trying to pick up some extra shifts myself right now… while I still can.”  
  
She didn’t really care, and she really didn’t want to hear the other woman’s response, but the pretty brunette also knew that her follower wouldn’t go away until she played along in the little game that had been initiated. “Are you sick?”  
  
“Well, in a way, I guess you could say that, but, really, the sickness started to wane after the first three months.”  
  
Almost unbidden, the surgical nurse felt her eyes trail down to land and then rest upon the blonde’s slightly rounded stomach. It was the last thing she wanted to see, but, like a true masochist, she felt as though she couldn’t _not_ glance down at the visible evidence of the other nurse’s pregnancy. If she allowed herself to go there, just the sight of an expectant mother could send her into a downward spiral of pain, grief, and guilt, but, before the ever raw and haunting memories could cripple her, she pushed the fleeting images aside and rudely asked, “what does you being knocked up have to do with me. If no one’s told you, I don’t go to baby showers, and I certainly don’t throw them.”  
  
Her harsh tone seemed to deflate her shadow’s ever optimistic expression somewhat, but, still, the glowing woman pressed on. “No, my sister’s handling my shower. What I wanted to know is if you would consider painting a mural in my baby’s nursery? I don’t know what I’m having, and my husband and I elected not to find out. We want to be surprised, but I’m sure there are still dozens of different things that you could paint. I’ve been reading a lot of children’s books at night, both to the baby and for inspiration, and I was thinking that a nursery rhyme might work out nic…”  
  
“Who told you that?”  
  
Caught off guard by the rude, disruptive inquiry, the blonde blinked several times in a vain attempt to regroup and seemed to struggle with her words. “I don’t understand… I… What?”  
  
“Why would you ever even think that I knew how to paint?”  
  
Almost laughing, the other woman responded, “because Patrick told me that…”  
  
“What did he tell you,” Elizabeth cut off the pregnant nurse once again.  
  
She could tell that her former shadow was feeling immense discomfort with the shift their conversation had taken, but, nevertheless, the practical stranger pushed on. “He said that you were a painter before you became a nurse, that you were even going to art school. Now, I know that you don’t paint much anymore, but…”  
  
“No, I don’t paint at all anymore,” she refuted. “Zilch, none, nada.”  
  
“But surely you haven’t forgotten how. I mean, that’s not a learned skill,” the other nurse contended. “It’s a talent.”  
  
“One that, even if I still possessed after all these years, I’m not going to use,” the brunette stated unequivocally. “Painting is my past; nursing is my now, is my future, and the last thing I would ever do is paint your baby’s nursery for you. Patrick had no right to tell you anything about me, but, since he did, I’m going to tell you something as well: I hate simpering, expecting mothers. Stay away from me, don’t _ever_ think that we’re friends, don’t give me updates about your little brat, and, above all else, do not say a word to anyone about what you know. If I so much as hear my name coming off of your lips…” She left the threat open ended. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a boyfriend to castrate.”  
  
With that, she stalked off, the thought of getting her next assignment from her supervisor already forgotten. She knew that Patrick was in the on-call room, attempting to catch a few hours of sleep before his next shift began. He had been up all night with a complicated, risky surgery, one that she had assisted upon, and he claimed to need some rest before he tackled his next scheduled procedure later that day. However, Elizabeth had other thoughts in mind.  
  
She had confided to him about her artistic past out of necessity. It had been her way to explain why she wanted her entire life to be lacking in color as much as possible, why she refused to go to any of the numerous New York City museums with him, and why she seemed to have absolutely no hobbies at all. Considering the small detail to be a necessary evil, she had confessed that part of her past to her boyfriend, believing that he would keep her secret to himself. She had obviously been wrong, and, now, the hotshot neurosurgeon was going to hear about it. If the new Elizabeth was proficient at giving the rest of the world the cold shoulder, then she was downright an expert at speaking her mind. While it didn’t happen often, that did not mean that her temper was dormant, and Patrick was about to learn that fact up close and personal, for she was enraged.

} ~ {

Striding into his partner’s office without knocking, Jason demanded, “I want some answers, Sonny, right now.”  
  
Ever pleasant, ever the smooth businessman that he was, the Cuban simply asked, “about what?”  
  
“Anthony Zacchara.” Leaning against the other man’s desk, the hitman expanded, “I had a meeting with him.”  
  
“I wish you wouldn’t have done that. We should have gone in together, presented a united front.”  
  
“Well, this is the way I see it,” the blonde responded, sitting across from his former mentor. “You went behind my back all those years ago to set up this little arrangement, and you’re still meeting with Anthony in secret, so why shouldn’t I follow your example?”  
  
While Jason knew that his attack had pushed some of the don’s rather temperamental buttons, his boss simply grinned, flattened down his already impeccable suit, and cordially offered to answer any of his questions. It was a stalling tactic if he ever saw one, and it made the enforcer just that much more wary about what his supposed best friend was hiding. Typically, Sonny would lose his temper if ever interrogated. He’d blow up quickly and settle back down just like a sudden, summer storm, but, instead, he was reigning himself back, controlling his reactions, and his newfound restraint had absolutely nothing to do with any improvements of personality.  
  
“You can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” the Cuban assured him. “You know that.”  
  
But that was exactly the problem. He feared that his partner would lie and scramble to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear, covering up anything less than trustworthy and honorable on the mob boss’ behalf. However, there was too much history between the two friends for him to simply stalk out of their impromptu meeting without giving Sonny a chance, so, with that thought in mind, he started by inquiring, “tell me about this partnership you have going with Anthony Zacchara.”  
  
“Really, Jason,” his boss attempted to grandstand. “There’s not much to tell. He did something for me in the past, and, in return, you’re to train his son. And Johnny’s not a bad kid, a little soft, perhaps, but he’s smart, and you have to believe that he inherited his old man’s instincts.”  
  
Ignoring everything said about the younger Zacchara, the hitman returned to his partner’s previous, ambiguous statement. “What kind of thing did Anthony do you for? What was so important that you agreed to this deal?”  
  
“He allowed me to use some of his shipping routes.”  
  
That was it? That was the big, secretive reason behind the mess he currently found himself mired in? Jason didn’t buy it. However, once more, he didn’t confront his old friend with his suspicions. Instead, he said, “but we have plenty of our own shipping lanes. Why would you need to use the Zacchara’s?”  
  
“It was during a tense time, and I needed the element of surprise to get the shipments through,” the Cuban answered. Finally showing the lack of restraint he was known for, Sonny pounded his desk, glaring at his enforcer. “You weren’t here at the time, so don’t come back now, years later, and demand answers from me. In case you’ve forgotten this little fact, let me remind you that I run this organization. I’m in charge. You are just my second in command. The only time you get to ask questions of me is when I need you to step in and run things, and now is not one of those times, Jason, so drop it. Now!”  
  
Coolly, he nodded his head, the simple gesture meant to show his boss deference and submission… at least, for the moment. Wanting to see if he could ruffle the don’s feathers, he revealed, “Anthony also sent me a message.”  
  
“Of course he did,” Sonny defended. “That’s what we do in this business.”  
  
That was it. He didn’t even ask what the message contained. For someone who was known for being a control freak, such a non-reaction was definitely an odd reaction, especially since it seemed so nonchalant and dismissive. “Something felt off about it, though,” he responded, revealing little but his concern. “It was like he knew something that I should, too, but don’t. Is there anything that you’re not tell…”  
  
“What the hell is going on around here,” Alexis yelled, barging into her husband’s office and slamming the door behind her as if to punctuate the ending of her challenging query.  
  
“Sweetheart, what a lovely surprise,” Sonny greeted in return, his dimples out in full force. The hitman noticed that his partner deftly shifted the paperwork that had been littering the top of his desk just moments before, hiding several documents from the attorney’s sight line while, at the same time, standing to welcome the irate, pregnant woman. The shifty move made him doubt the Cuban even more. “We didn’t have plans to meet for lunch, did we?”  
  
Angrily, the lawyer snapped back in retort, “I do more than just eat at this point, Corinthos. In fact,” she pressed on without pausing to breathe, “I just took on a new client. My nephew’s wife is finally leaving him, and I’m representing her in their divorce litigation.”  
  
“Do you think that’s wise,” the don questioned, “taking on such a stressful case this far along in your pregnancy?”  
  
But the incensed brunette just ignored him. “In fact, just this morning, I was having a teleconference with Diane Miller and her secretary who just so happens to be Nadine’s brother, and they informed me that Jason was back in town.” Noticing the crime boss’ nod in his direction, Alexis glanced over. “Oh. Hello.” But that was all the polite pleasantries she offered. Glowering once more at the father of her unborn child, she stated, “we both know what your enforcer’s presence back in town means; it means that things are out of hand, that something is happening that you can’t control on your own, so you called Jason back from god knows where to handle things for you. Well, I want to know what’s wrong. Just how at risk am I and my daughter right now?”  
  
“Or son,” Sonny pleasantly argued, completely disregarding everything his wife had just said and asked. “Don’t forget it could be a boy, too, and it’s our child, not just yours.”  
  
“Yeah, well, for now,” the attorney said. “By the time it’s born, it might not be either of ours if we’re both dead.” Sighing, she seemed to deflate somewhat before the hitman’s very eyes. “I’m not Carly. I’m not going to run out, make up some ridiculous plan, and do something stupid. All I ask is that you respect me enough to be upfront and honest with me. Whatever this is… whatever has brought Jason back to Port Charles, I deserve to know the truth about it, no matter how bad it might seem. I would rather be prepared for the worst than blindsided.”  
  
“You know I respect you, Alexis,” the Cuban prefaced his next statement, “but, really, nothing is going on, at least, nothing more dangerous than usual. Jason being back does not mean that something is wrong.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.”  
  
The blatant mistrust on the lawyer’s behalf towards the mob boss seemed to irk him. “What do you mean you don’t believe me? I’m your husband, damn it! That means you’re supposed to listen to what I say and do what I tell you.”  
  
“Again, I’m not Carly,” the expectant brunette contended. “Despite the fact that I’ve never done anything but be loyal to you, unlike your ex-wife, you still refuse to treat me with any respect. However, when things get rough, you still run to her.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“I know that she knows,” Alexis retorted harshly. “For some reason, you deemed it appropriate to tell Carly about Jason being back in town, but you didn’t inform me.”  
  
“I didn’t tell her anything,” his partner refuted, raising his voice to match the volume of his unorthodox spouse’s. “Carly and I hardly ever see each other at this point, and, when we do, we only talk about Michael.”  
  
Realizing that the two of them would be arguing for the foreseeable future, Jason decided to just slip out of the don’s office unnoticed, just as he had arrived several minutes before. It was evident to him that he wasn’t going to get any straight answers anyway from his boss, just as Alexis wouldn’t be getting any either. Sonny was hiding something big, something life altering. If he was going to find out what it was, though, he was going to have to search out the answers on his own, and he knew exactly who he was going to turn to for help.  
  
Besides, he also had to now avoid Carly as well. The last thing he wanted to do was see his ex-… whatever Carly was to him. He knew that she would be looking for him, too, so it would be best if he avoided his usual haunts. That meant no going to Jake’s, staying as far away from the warehouse as he could, and no coffee from Kelly’s. While he might be back in town, he had no idea how long he was going to be staying, and the last thing he wanted or needed was for Carly to attempt manipulating him all over again. He had finally broken that cycle five years before, and he sure as hell wasn’t going back to that type of existence ever again, Michael or no Michael.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Maxie Jones liked _the idea_ of flying. After using the boarding terminal as a mock runway, she'd take her seat in first class, dazzling all the wealthy passengers surrounding her with her bright smile and impeccable good looks. She'd cocoon herself in the free, complimentary, cashmere blankets and slip on a pair of the free, complimentary slippers while sipping the free, complimentary champagne. Eventually, when she got bored and was feeling daring enough thanks to the bubbly, she'd either seduce the captain - having wild, passionate sex in the cockpit - ha! Cockpit! - or begin a scandalous affair with a rising investment banker or someone with a title she didn't recognize but would enjoy using to her advantage if they were to marry and live happily ever after.  
  
Unfortunately, though, _the reality_ of flying was much, much more common. Robin refused to upgrade their tickets, no matter how much she protested, so she was forced to ride in coach with everyone else, crammed in like sausage toes in a fat, old lady's shoe. It was disgusting. And debasing. And, if anyone ever found out about the humiliating affair someday when she was rich, famous, and pretending to be ten years younger than she actually was, well Maxie was just positive that she'd be ruined for life.  
  
Glancing around the oddly scented airplane cabin, the young nanny observed her fellow passengers. There were elderly women with blue hair and support hose, and she found herself wondering why anyone would ever leave the house once they started to look that bad. There were squalling, irksome children, harried mothers who were one 'are we there yet's' away from pulling out their own fingernails in order to _relieve_ their stress, and fake, bottle blonde stewardesses who did not live up to their rumored reputation. Oh, and then there was also a returning tour group who were on their way home from visiting _Gay Paris_ , emphasis on the gay. At least, they had on good shoes.  
  
To make matters worse, she was stuck in the aisle seat. For obvious reasons, Cate sat in the middle so that both she and Robin could attend to her if needed or necessary, but Maxie had been scoping out the window seat when Robin declared that sometimes the combination of her HIV cocktail and flying did not mix well together. She hadn't argued with her, despite the fact that she had seen through the weak excuse. If anything, it would have made more sense for Robin to sit on the aisle if she was really going to get sick so that, if she had to make a mad dash for the tiny, airplane restroom, she could without risking the chance of throwing up over those who sat in front of her. Leave it to her cousin, though, to use the sick card to get what she wanted.  
  
It did give Maxie an idea, though. Perhaps _she_ should feign a horrible disease, too, in order to rouse sympathy and, at least temporarily, live as the brave, endearing survivor who laughed in the face of death and confronted each day as if it could be her last. First, she'd have to figure out what diseases were currently in vogue. Perhaps exotic malaria, or nearly eradicated small pox, but, then again, scarlet fever sounded downright romantic. Yet again, though, that could have just been her Gone with the Wind fetish talking.  
  
Sighing, she leaned back... or, at least, attempted to lean back. When sitting in coach, such luxuries as reclining one's seat became more an issue of mind over matter. If you really wanted to be able to rest, you simply had to tell yourself that you were comfortable... even if you weren't. And it was pretty much impossible to get comfortable, what with the ridiculously small, lumpy seats, lack of alcohol, and aisles which, apparently, tilted in her direction so that, whenever someone went past to use the restroom, they were seemingly forced to brush against her.  
  
Oh, Maxie understood her appeal, understood why everyone wanted to crowd her in an effort to touch her even if for only a passing, glancing moment. The ancient, cotton candy hued women hoped that her youth would rub off on them, and the gay guys wanted her flawless fashion sense, and the kids... well, she had a feeling they just wanted to annoy her, but if one more person _accidentally_ knocked into her arm, she was going to... to... well, _if_ she had a bag of peanuts, she would chuck it at them, not that the dowdy stewardesses had actually gotten around to handing out the cheap, salty snacks.  
  
Gripping the armrests and gritting her teeth, she recrossed her legs, immediately starting to kick her right foot, stopping it just centimeters from the chair in front of her. “Look, I know you don't want to be here right now...,” Robin started only for Maxie to grunt belligerently in response. After all, she wasn't sure if she could manage whole, complete sentences without losing her control and embarrassing herself. “... But I really think this move will be good for us.”  
  
Turning to glare at her cousin, the younger woman demanded, “oh, really? And just why exactly do you think that?”  
  
“Well, for one, Cate needs her family. Yes, she has us, but isn't it selfish of us to keep her from Mac and Georgie?”  
  
“What exactly are they going to offer her,” Maxie countered. “Sure, Mac could teach her how to load a handgun and how to lose her accent, and Georgie will do an excellent job of trying to strip away all the coolness I've worked hard trying to instill within her, but, face it, Robin. If they really wanted to be a part of your daughter's life, they would have made the effort to actually come and see her once in a while.”  
  
“You know they both have busy lives...”  
  
Interrupting, she argued, “Mac gets, at least, two weeks of vacation time a year, and Georgie's off of school for an entire three months during the summer. You can't tell me that she couldn't be just as much of a brown-nosing do-gooder at your former hospital in Paris as she is at GH.” Her cousin's only response was an irritated glare. Like that would intimidate her!  
  
“I also think that it's important for Cate to see where her mother grew up, to have a sense of roots.”  
  
“Okay, I can get that,” Maxie conceded, “but you should have thought about that _before_ you had her live in Paris – one of the most beautiful, historic, fashionably forward cities in the world.”  
  
“Port Charles is a city, too.”  
  
She couldn't help it. Although she knew it was unladylike, she snorted. “Yeah freaking right! Port Charles is a nothing, hillbilly, Podunk town in upstate New York along the Hudson River. There are only three places in all of the United States that are livable. New York for obvious reasons, Los Angeles because of Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Rodeo Drive, baby, and Miami, because, well, because it's South Beach. Chicago's too cold, Atlanta's too far from the ocean, and Huston is, well, it's in Texas, and Texas is where the Bush family is from.”  
  
Maxie could see her cousin fighting a smile. “I'm actually surprised you know anything about U.S. Politics.”  
  
“Hello, I'm Parisian,” the nanny reminded the older woman. “Of course, I'm going to be aware enough to hate on America, and, in case you've forgotten, for the past four years, your daughter has been a Parisian, too. She speaks French better than I speak English, took walks daily on the Champs-Élysées, and only understands the metric system. All her friends live in Paris. Her preschool is in Paris. Her life is in Paris.”  
  
“Alright, then, fine. Maybe this move is more about me.”  
  
“Damn straight it is,” Maxie declared. “You're running. Again.”  
  
“That's preposterous. What in the world could I possibly be running from,” Robin asked. “There was nothing wrong with our life in Paris.”  
  
“Besides the fact that you just made my point for me,” the younger woman replied, “perhaps it's precisely the fact that you were happy that you're running. Ever since Stone died, you've allowed yourself only so much peace before you self-implode your life.”  
  
“That's not true,” her cousin defended. “Besides,” if Robin didn't stop jumping topics soon enough, Maxie feared she'd come down with a case of vertigo. “Relocating back to Port Charles and GH will be good for both my career and my health. After all, my doctor does live there.”  
  
“Hello, you're a doctor, too - one, I might add, whose specialty is HIV/AIDS research and treatment. Just take care of yourself.”  
  
“You know that doctors aren't supposed to be their own patients.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, the nanny disputed, “that's like saying I shouldn't dress myself because I'm a budding fashion designer.” Before Robin could counter, she held up a silencing hand. “And there's another reason we shouldn't have moved. How the hell am I supposed to start a fashion line in a town where the residents think _the mall_ is high fashion?”  
  
Sighing, the older woman said, “just... give it a chance, okay? Help me get Cate situated, give it a few weeks, and, if you're still unhappy, then I'll pay for your ticket...”  
  
“First class,” Maxie interrupted, insisted.  
  
“I'll pay for a first class ticket for you to go back to France, and I'll give you the most glowing recommendation an au pair could ask for.”  
  
Stubbornly, she challenged, “oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I'd fly back to Paris and leave you alone to bury yourself in your work and hide behind your daughter. Without me along to pester you, you'd never go on another date.”  
  
“I date,” Robin persisted.  
  
“Ah, no, you dismiss. You go on and on and on about how, when you fall in love again, you want it to be with this great, smart, caring guy who accepts your kid, lives his life to give back to the world, and turns the faucet off when he's brushing his teeth. And, then, I introduce you to boring guys who fit your list, or you meet boring guys at work who fit your list, but, when they ask you out, you turn them down. In fact, you _tear_ them down, ripping them apart and destroying them simply to convince yourself that you were right to refuse to date them.”  
  
Narrowing her gaze, her cousin hissed, “do you have a point?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Maxie stated. “My point is that you lie to yourself and set these impossibly high standards for men simply so that you'll never have to open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt again, but, all the while, what you really want is a bad boy. You want someone who is charming, and sexy, and who will refuse to take your crap. No matter how much you try to bully those around you, you need – and want – an alpha male who will be able to put you in your place.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” her cousin stuttered, “at least I don't go out and have random one night stands.”  
  
Slipping an eye towards Cate, the younger woman noticed that the four year old had her eyes closed. With the direction their conversation... if one could actually call it that... was heading, she needed to know whether or not her charge was awake. With her answer, she replied, “uh, am I supposed to feel bad about that?”  
  
“It's just cheap sex, Maxie!”  
  
“First of all, your daughter isn't sleeping; she's faking.”  
  
“Of course, she's sleeping,” Robin disagreed. “Her eyes are closed, and she hasn't moved or made a sound in forty-five minutes.”  
  
“No, she's faking.”  
  
Pursing her lips in annoyance, the older woman asked, “and how do you know that?”  
  
“Because who do you think taught how to fake sleep in the first place? She's good, but she's not good enough yet to fool me. Watch,” to demonstrate, she reached out and pinched the little girl who appropriately wiggled away from her touch.  
  
“Aunt Maxie,” Cate whined, “I _am_ sleeping.” Smirking pointedly in Robin's direction, she, without words, declared her victory.  
  
“Why on earth would you teach my daughter to fake sleep?”  
  
“Because every self-respecting woman needs to know how, and, if she's going to be good at it, she needs to start practicing now. Trust me, when she wakes up next to someone who does not have a 401K portfolio, she'll thank me, or, when she's trying to snowball you into thinking she's sick so she doesn't have to go to school, she'll thank me.” Talking rapidly so that she couldn't be argued with, Maxie pressed on, “as for your allegations pertaining to my extra-curricular activities, a one night stand is the best way to date. It allows a woman to evaluate a man and determine whether or not he's worth a second go.”  
  
“There's more to a relationship than just how good a guy is in the sack!”  
  
“Obviously,” the nanny responded, “but it is definitely important. If there's no chemistry, no matter how perfect the guy is otherwise, the relationship still won't last. However, that's pretty much immaterial for me when it comes to first dates or, as you like to cheapen them, one night stands, because, when I pick a guy up, I know he's going to be good in bed.”  
  
“Maxie...,” Robin said, drawing out her name in warning.  
  
“No, I'm serious,” the younger woman defended. “When I choose my target, he's always good looking, built, and well endowed, and, with me as a partner, that pretty much guarantees he'll get a passing grade. No, what I evaluate on a first date is the guy's apartment. You can tell a lot about a guy by snooping through his stuff after he rolls over and starts to snore. You can figure out if he's a gardener or employs a gardener by going through his closet. You can tell if he's Nouveau Riche or if he comes from old money by his furniture, and you can determine whether or not he's married by looking in his fridge. If a guy passes all those tests, then I'll take him for a second spin, but, most of the time, they inevitably fail at least one if not two points of their evaluation. I think it's because I go to twenty-something bars and clubs instead of fancy restaurants and opera houses to scoop out men, but, then again,” she smiled brightly, deceptively, “I won't have to worry about dating at all once we land in Port Charles, because there's no way I'm hooking up with some piece of American trash looking to ride through life on my designer coattails.”  
  
For several minutes, her cousin simply stared at her, mouth agape. Finally, she queried, “do you have any idea how hypocritical what you just said was?”  
  
“Nope, and I don't care.”  
  
“Maxie, just because you lived in Europe for four years, that does not make you European.”  
  
“Uh, my credit card statement says otherwise.”  
  
“And just because you now know what a bidet is and prefer croissants over donuts...”  
  
Interrupting, Maxie refuted, “oh, I never ate donuts!”  
  
Taking a deep breath, the older woman gathered her bearings. “My point is that you are still an American yourself, Maxie, whether you like it or not.”  
  
“Maybe I will be for the next few weeks,” the nanny agreed, “but, once you and Cate are settled in, and I'm back in Paris, I'm applying for French citizenship, and, once I have it, I'll never step foot onto U.S. soil again unless it's for a fashion show or a red carpet appearance.”  
  
“Well, if that's the case, Cate and I will miss you.”  
  
She knew what her cousin was doing or, at least, what she was trying to do. Robin wanted to make her feel guilty, make her believe that she was abandoning them... just as Maxie's own parents had done to her so many times over the years, but it wasn't going to work. No matter how much she loved Cate, she wasn't Maxie's daughter, and Robin was an adult who didn't need her daughter's twenty-something nanny taking care of her, too. Just as Mac and Georgie had been welcome to visit Paris during all the years the three of them lived there, once she was back home where she belonged, Robin and Cate would be welcome to visit Paris anytime as well.  
  
Besides, she still wasn't convinced that the older woman knew what she was doing. Twisting her head to grin wickedly in Robin's direction, Maxie taunted, “that's only if you end up staying, and I have a feeling that the first time something happens to make you uncomfortable, or scared, or feel threatened, you'll come running back to wherever it is we're going to be staying, you'll pack our bags, and we'll catch the first plane out of Dodge.”  
  
“We'll see.”  
  
“You'll see. _I'm_ leaving in three weeks.”  
  
And she would be, no matter what.

} ~ {

Even when still happily married to Nikolas, Nadine had never liked living at Wyndemere. First of all, the only homes which should have gargoyles as decorations were homes populated by Quasimodo. She just had this inane fear that, when she went to sleep, they'd come alive and swallow her whole in their gaping, wide mouths. Though she knew such fears were ridiculous, she just couldn't help herself from having them, especially when her soon-to-be ex had left her alone at night with the kids in the stone monstrosity while he went out of town on business.  
  
Then there was also the fact that the place was entirely too large. It wasn't the fact that she wanted to live in a box, but, when you couldn't be heard yelling at one end of the house from the other, you knew it was too big. And drafty, too. There was no such thing as running down the stairs on Christmas morning in your bare feet because of excitement and haste to open presents, because, if you did so while living at Wyndemere, you'd probably end up losing a toe or two due to frost bite. Plus, she was always afraid of breaking something, the place was entirely too dark and depressing, and, in her opinion, it smelled weird, too. No matter how many times the house was cleaned or how many candles she burnt, it always smelled, and the odor wasn't pleasant. It was dank, and musty, and lingering, and it reminded Nadine of old cemeteries and graveyards.  
  
In order to feel more comfortable, while still married to Nikolas, she had often tried to keep to just a few of the many rooms – her bedroom, the kids' rooms, her private sitting room. Even her almost former husband's study unnerved her. When they were first dating and getting to know each other, that's often where he would take her, and she would feel trapped, claustrophobic in the room, despite its cavernous size, for, whatever quack architect had designed the home, had forgotten the fact that most people liked windows in all their rooms. And, then, after they were married, she always felt like she was intruding when she spent any time in the central room. There had been a decided unwelcome chill to the air, one that was different and more personal than the other drafts present throughout the modern castle.  
  
However, by far, her least favorite thing about Wyndemere was the tunnels. The fact that people could sneak into her home at any time, day or night, without be seen or suspected was downright creepy, not to mention an invasion of privacy, and, given Nikolas' family's penchant for murdering their own, she feared those tunnels would someday be put to use in order to rid the Cassadine name of her unwanted, tainting presence or that of her daughter's. It was for that reason and the fact that she had a sneaking suspicion her soon-to-be ex didn't want to spend time with Laura that she was hesitant to allow her little girl her weekend visitation with her father.  
  
After taking the launch to the island and walking up the winding path that led to the house, Nadine had been unsure if whether or not she was required to ring for entrance or if she could just allow herself in like she had done for years. Even if she and Nikolas were separated, Wyndemere, at one point, had been her home, and it was still her son's residence and the place her daughter would spend her weekends in all probability, but, at the same time, she did not want her almost former spouse to simply barge into her new apartment whenever he felt like it. So, she had been polite, and she had been meek, and she had rang the bell, but Alfred never came to answer the door, and, if she didn't leave soon, then she'd be late for her shift.  
  
Hurrying through the house, she yelled out her presence. “Hello! I'm sorry that I let myself in, but I have to be at work in half an hour, and....” Huffing indignantly, she stomped her foot. “Oh, this is ridiculous!” At her show of temper, her daughter giggled quietly beside her as they walked along. “Alfred, are you here? I know you're not supposed to talk to me, or ever help me, or probably even look at me, but I'm supposed to drop Laura off to spend the weekend here.” Still, she received no response. In fact, the large estate had a decidedly still quality to it that afternoon that wasn't present when her children's father was working and the staff were busy bustling about. Walking into the study, she tried one more time, “hello! Nikolas? Is anybody...”  
  
“I'm afraid Mr. Cassadine must have forgotten about his appointments. Though I can understand how he could forget an old man like me, you, on the other hand, are quite unforgettable.”  
  
Grumbling under her breath before she even contemplated her actions or the fact that the man standing across from her in the shadows of the dimly lit room was a stranger and didn't belong there, Nadine whispered, “oh, I can almost guarantee that he'll wipe every last memory of me from his mind as soon as the ink is dry on our divorce papers.”  
  
“Ah, so you're the soon to be ex-wife.”  
  
Pushing her little girl behind her, she responded, “yeah, and, since you seem to know who I am, why don't you return the favor.” The older, petite man took a step forward into the light, the twisted smile upon his wrinkled face both familiar and distressing. “I... I know you.”  
  
“Everybody does.”  
  
His face was constantly plastered across newspapers, flashed on the television screen, and feared in every corner of the state from Buffalo to Saratoga Springs. He was a mob boss and a decidedly vicious one from all accounts, though how a person could be considered a non-vicious mob boss, she wasn't sure, and everything she had ever heard or read about him said that he was always on the verge of madness, straddling the thin line between sanity and a complete mental breakdown.  
  
Swallowing thickly, Nadine attempted to call forth all her strength and courage. Though every bone in her body was screaming for her to turn around, pick up her daughter, and run as fast and as far away from the elderly criminal as she possibly could, the more rational part of her knew sudden movement could spook him, and the last thing she needed was to provide him with a back to stab. So, as she slowly maneuvered her way inch by inch to the door, walking backwards and guiding an instinctively fearful Laura with her, the young nurse asked, “Mr. Zacchara, would you please tell Nikolas that I had to get to work, so I couldn't wait for him to return, that he can see our daughter next weekend instead?”  
  
Glowering, he complained, “hey, I'm nobody's secretary. Anthony Zacchara does not deliver messages, especially for a woman. I pay people to do that for me.”  
  
“You're right, and I'm sorry,” Nadine hastily apologized. “I just...”  
  
“You're flustered,” he interjected, speaking for her. “And I can smell your fear all the way over here.”  
  
“Well, you know, this house has always given me the heebie-jeebies.”  
  
In reaction, the old man laughed loudly. “Is that so, huh? I actually like it. The roses are beautiful, and the balconies look like they could be of some fun. Tell me, just how many people have been pushed off of this house?”  
  
“Just one, I think.”  
  
“Oh, now that's a shame.” She was almost to the door when Mr. Zacchara sat down behind her soon-to-be ex-husband's desk, making himself comfortable. “Now, before you scamper off like a frightened little bunny rabbit, I was curious as to whether or not you're going to ask Mr. Cassadine about why I was here.”  
  
“What Nikolas does professionally is none of my business.”  
  
“Except it is, especially if you're a greedy whore like my first wife and want to put your nose where a woman's nose doesn't belong.” Standing, once more, the crime boss stalked around the desk and moved rapidly towards Nadine. Coming to a halt just a few short feet away from her, he continued, “you're getting divorced, which means you probably think that you're entitled to half of what is your husband's, but let me tell you something, missy - you can just forget about that idea right now. Cassadine Industries is far too important to me professionally to allow you to get your greedy little hands on...”  
  
“I don't want anything,” she blurted out, too nervous and afraid to worry that interrupting the old man might anger him further. “Well, at least, I don't want any money or any of the business. I just want my kids. I don't care if I have to work double shifts for the rest of my life...”  
  
“Alright, alright, I get it,” Anthony shot her impassioned speech down. “You're an idealistic one, huh? I never married one of those. I seemed to either marry ambitious whores or just cheating whores. Those are the types of women, though, that you don't divorce.” She really didn't want to know how he got rid of them then. “Anyway,” the mob boss segued... again. “I'm glad that you're not going to fight for your husband's belongings. If you were to do that, then you might end up interfering with my plans, and I couldn't have that now, could I? You see, your husband's legal, dummy corporations are the key piece to the puzzle, the puzzle in which I slowly strip away all of Sonny Corinthos' holdings, and, in exchange for helping me procure my enemy's best assets, I've been laundering Mr. Cassadine's money for him. You know, quid pro quo, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and,” with a quick wave of both of his small hands, he dismissed, “all that other trite nonsense.”  
  
Whimpering under her breath, Nadine glanced at the exit, desperate to leave. “Please, I'm really going to be late for work if I don't...”  
  
“What, didn't you know just how crooked the father of your children really is?”  
  
Actually, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she wasn't surprised at all that Nikolas was in league with the insane criminal. After the past six months, she no longer believed in any of her grand, princely illusions in regards to the man she had naively married. However, at the same time, she liked being oblivious. While it was one thing to suspect the father of her children of illegal activities, it was a whole different story to possess detailed knowledge of just how dirty Nikolas' dealings actually were.  
  
“No, I did, or, at least, I thought I did, but.... Why are you telling me all this, Mr. Zacchara?”  
  
“Because I was bored, and I wanted to see how you'd react.” He raised his voice in volume with each successive word until he was yelling. “Because, when I make an appointment with someone, I expect them to meet it. And, because, if Mr. Cassadine can't be bothered to show up at his own damn house to discuss business with me, then I'll damn well discuss it with whomever I want, even if, in doing so, I hand his wife the perfect way to strip him of his parental rights. Not that _you_ would do anything like that now, would you, Nursie?”  
  
“I just... I just want what's best for my children.” It wasn't a lie, but, yet, it wasn't the entire truth either.  
  
Mr. Zacchara chuckled gleefully. “Well played, Mrs. Cassadine.” Tilting his head to the side, he observed her for a moment before replying, “you know, I like you. You're smart, and you're feisty, not to mention it's not a hardship to look at you, but, at the same time, you're polite and seem to know your place. Perhaps your husband isn't as wise as I thought.”  
  
She knew it was stupid, knew that she should just take his compliment and walk out while she still could, but Nadine simply couldn't allow the elderly man's last comment to stand. “Or maybe I finally woke up and saw my husband for who he really is.”  
  
With that, she didn't give the kingpin another chance to talk before shoving her daughter into the hall, grabbing her small, pudgy hand to hold within her own, and running away as fast as Laura's feet could carry them. 

} ~ {

When she had the mind to, no one ever looked as hot as his girlfriend. While Elizabeth certainly wasn't the tallest woman, or the leggiest, and definitely not the bustiest, she knew how to dress for what she did have, and there was something different about her eyes - something deeper, darker, richer about them - that could drive Patrick insane with want and lust. Besides, he liked that she was short and petite, that, when he kissed her, he had to bend over to reach her lips even if she had heels on. He liked the fact that she was so small that he could pick her up and hold her against the wall as he had sex with her without ever getting tired or worn out. The fact that her legs weren't that long was easily compensated by how flexible she was, and, when it came to her breasts, as a surgeon he appreciated that they were natural and so sensitive.  
  
So, as he sat there, nursing a scotch in the restaurant he picked for his own self-congratulations dinner, Patrick found himself wondering just what his girlfriend would wear that evening. He had been vague when inviting her out, simply telling her that he had some good news to share and wanted to take her out in order to do so. He had even hinted that they might go dancing after they finished with their meal.  
  
Would it be the short, tight red number, the one that clung to her hips so tightly he knew for a fact she couldn't wear underwear with it? Would it be the long, flowing blue one with the slit that went so far up her thigh, there were mere inches of material between her bare leg and waist? Or would it be something black and slinky, something far more scandalous than the word little could ever cover? Whatever it was, Patrick was determined she wouldn't wear it for long.  
  
Smirking to himself, he sat back in his chair, feeling smug, and confident, and more worthy than ever before in his life, only to realize that, whether it had been because of their hectic careers or something else, it had actually been quite a while since he and Elizabeth had had sex, and, considering how limited their relationship was, for they didn't really talk or share things with each other, that was a startling and entirely too telling realization. Perhaps there were just too many distractions in the city. He had his life, she had her life, and, despite the fact that they both worked in the same hospital, their lives did not intersect very often. Besides for his career, maybe the move to Port Charles would be good for them, too. If nothing else, it certainly couldn't make things any worse.  
  
Seeing Elizabeth enter and approach the maitre-d, the neurosurgeon shook away his thoughts, sat up straight, and put his nearly empty glass of scotch back down on the table. Catching sight of her before she saw him allowed Patrick the chance to observe her body language, her facial expressions, gauge her mood, and what he found was not encouraging. Outwardly, she was stiff with detachment and aloofness, but, underneath her cool exterior, he could see the sheer rage swirling, simmering, burning to the top only to boil over and start again even more dangerous than seconds before.  
  
 _What the...?_  
  
“How dare you,” Elizabeth snapped, leaning over the table to glare at him. Even in her current snit, he would have enjoyed the view if she had been wearing either the red, or the blue, or one of the black dresses she owned, but, instead, she still wore her scrubs. Slamming her hands down on the wooden table top, causing the silver and glassware to rattle, and drawing stares from the other patrons, she said it again. “How fucking dare you!”  
  
“I... Elizabeth....” Never one to back down from a fight, and certainly never one to allow a woman to embarrass him in public while accusing him of some vague wrong he wasn't even aware of, Patrick quickly became angry as well. Standing so that he could glower down upon her, he bit back, “what the hell did I even do? I asked you to meet me here so I could share with you some good news, and you come in, spoiling for a fight, making a scene, looking like a...”  
  
“If you even think about finishing that sentence, I will hit you,” she threatened. Obviously, she had known exactly where his thoughts and words were headed, and they weren't complimentary.  
  
“And I'll have a room full of witnesses if I want to press charges.”  
  
She laughed then - a bitter, hollow, vindictive sound that caused him to shiver and immediately take a step back. “Do you think that's supposed to scare me? I have lived through things no woman should ever have to experience, and you threaten me with a fucking arrest record? God, Patrick! You're such a coward! If something truly agonizing ever happened to you, you wouldn't know what to do with the pain. You'd shrivel up, you'd fade away, and you'd become nothing.”  
  
“That's not fair, Elizabeth,” he defended himself. “You know that things weren't great for me growing up.”  
  
“Oh, boo fucking hoo,” she taunted. “So, your mom died, and your dad was a drunk. You weren't traumatized. You weren't permanently scarred and twisted up into someone you didn't even recognize afterwards. You've never...”  
  
“What,” he challenged, raising his own voice again. “What? What exactly is it that you've gone through that was so much worse than my suffering? What gives you the right to judge other people's grief and fears, Elizabeth?”  
  
“Even if you could have someday earned my trust enough for me to tell you that, I never will now.”  
  
“Again,” he sighed, rubbing his left hand through his short cropped hair in an agitated manner. He could see the staff watching them nervously, debating whether or not they should ask them to leave and risk insulting two good, regular customers. “You allude to something that I've done to you to make you this mad at me, but I have no idea...”  
  
“You told somebody that I used to paint. You shared with somebody else something I told you in confidence,” Elizabeth answered, practically choking on the words and the amount of venom spewing from her lips with them.  
  
“So what? You told me once that you used to paint, and I thought that maybe, since you seem to enjoy being so busy, you'd like to help out a coworker with her nursery.”  
  
“Yes, because after all these years of us knowing each other, when you see me, that's what you immediately think of, right - a woman who wants to surround herself with images of a baby she'll never have? If I wouldn't want kids of my own, Patrick, why in the hell would I want to paint a nursery for someone else?”  
  
“Well, excuse me! After the scene you made here tonight, I definitely won't make that mistake again,” he somewhat apologized, not that he'd actually say that he was sorry.  
  
“And neither will I when it comes to trusting you,” she returned spitefully. “If I couldn't count on you to keep just one, teeny-tiny secret, then how the hell am I supposed to confide in you about something important? Obviously, I can't,” Elizabeth answered for him, turning around and walking off before he could protest or defend himself. Not that he could, because she was right; he did break a promise to her. He just didn't understand why it mattered so much. Who the hell cared if she used to paint and now didn't?  
  
But then he remembered why he had asked her to meet him there in the first place, and he swore. “Damn it, Elizabeth!” Throwing down enough money to cover his drink and a generous tip for the staff for graciously putting up with their very public argument, he stood and chased after her, running out of the restaurant and catching up with her right before she got into a cab. Pulling on her elbow, he spun her around to face him. “Would you just wait a minute, please?”  
  
When she didn't move away from him or struggle against his grip, he said, “I wanted to tell you that I got offered my own neurology department. It's for a hospital in a town much smaller than New York, but I won't be just one more brain surgeon there; I'll be _the_ brain surgeon - the one the other doctors answer to, the one in charge, the one everybody wants to have operate on them. There, I'll be able to make a name for myself.”  
  
“Well, obviously, you accepted.”  
  
“I did,” he admitted, and he couldn't help the smile that bloomed across his handsome, confident face. “We leave for Port Charles in two weeks.”  
  
Lifting one of her hands to remove his own from her elbow, Elizabeth let his arm drop back to his side before lifting her gaze and staring at him. “No, _you'll_ be leaving for Port Charles in two weeks. I'm not going anywhere.”  
  
Turning around, she got in the cab, told the driver to take her to the hospital where she worked, and then slammed the door. Five minutes later, he was still standing there, the lights, and sounds, and vibrations of the city whipping past and surrounding him, but Patrick felt frozen in place, struck by just how empty his girlfriend's declaration had sounded, how final. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, though, nothing could dim his excitement. With Elizabeth at his side or not, he would be moving. He'd just prefer that she be a little more supportive sometimes. Was that too much to ask?


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Contrary to what some people might have thought, Carly Quartermaine Corinthos liked having guards. Growing up poor, she had obviously had a fascination with the obscenely wealthy. She admired their clothes, and their cars, and all their other material possessions, but, most of all, she admired the fact that they were important enough, powerful enough to tell others what to do. As a child, she didn't dream of growing up and someday finding true love and having a family. No, Carly dreamed of marrying rich and having servants – someone to wash her laundry, make her food, drive her wherever she might want to go. Though she had been determined, she never would have guessed years ago that she would have made her wish come true twice over.  
  
While it had been nice being married to A.J., at least for monetary reasons, what was even better was being Sonny Corinthos' wife. Hell, even being his ex-wife was pretty damn good. Whether the guards liked it or not, they were there to keep her safe, and, soon after being assigned to her, they realized that the only way she would cooperate with them and listen to directions was if they did what she told them to do. So, they carried her shopping bags, held open doors for her, and, when she didn't feel like waiting in line, they did that for her as well. Plus, she couldn't help but feel superior to every other woman in town when walking around with a burly, handsome man at her side, one that, if necessary would die for her. The only other woman who could claim such a privilege was Alexis, but she was too stubborn and too much of a feminist to take advantage of the situation.  
  
Oh, Carly knew what the attorney complained about in regards to the men. She hated the invasion of her privacy, blah, blah, blah.... However, what Alexis didn't realize and what Carly had figured out years before was that the guards were easy to slip. If there was something she needed to do and didn't want the men reporting her actions back to her ex-husband, all she had to do was go shopping, grab a huge pile of clothes that she wanted to try on, and then pretend she was in the fitting room while the bodyguard stood awkwardly by, trying and failing to blend in. Then she went off to wherever it was she really needed to be. Before the man had a chance to even realize her deception, she'd be back, and he'd be none the wiser.  
  
Or, sometimes, if it was a more dire situation, she'd simply claim female issues, rush off to the bathroom, and no man was going to ask questions about that. She'd have a good twenty to thirty minutes to sneak away, and, by the time she came back, the guards were extra cautious to do anything and everything she might desire in order to avoid her wrath. And, because they were men, they didn't particularly pay attention to how often she used the period excuse, because, if they did, they'd realize that she was on her period more often than she wasn't... at least, according to what she told them.  
  
In fact, that's how she had slipped away that morning. While sitting at the counter in Kelly's, waiting for her order, she had just happened to look up and saw Jason march through the diner's courtyard. For a moment, she had held her breath in anticipation, hoping her best friend would stop in, either to see her or to just grab a cup of coffee, but he didn't return, and she had been forced to chase after him. Having him so near had simply been too good of an opportunity to pass up, so she gave her excuse to the guard, ran to the bathroom, and then used the back exit of Kelly's to leave unnoticed.  
  
Because Kelly's was on the docks, it had been fairly easy for Carly to find Jason. After all, he wasn't one to frequent the tiny, independent shops that littered the less than high end streets, and, once upon a time, her best friend had spent more time down at the docks than he did anywhere else. Luckily, though, _that problem_ had been taken care of. It had probably been the one and only issue she and Sonny had agreed on during their marriage, but at least they had made their one piece of common ground something important.  
  
Sure enough, though, just as she suspected she would, she found Jason sitting on the bench that overlooked the harbor. Remaining in the shadows, she just watched him. It was obvious he was avoiding her on purpose, something she couldn't allow, but cornering him that morning would do her no good. What she needed to do was use the opportunity to figure out where he was staying. If she could get a lead on his location, then she could go to him whenever she wanted. Wouldn't Jason be surprised when he opened his door one night and found her waiting for him?  
  
She smiled at the very thought, already mentally sorting through her closet to determine whether or not she needed to go shopping. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? Even if she didn't _need_ to go shopping, she would. After all, it was Jason she was planning on spending time with, not just some random guy. Even if he wasn't impressed by designer labels and fancy clothes, she wanted to look her best for him anyway.   
  
She was in the throes of a debate between wearing a skirt, obviously for easy access, or a pair of tight, faded jeans to emphasize her ass when a third person entered the docks, taking the stairs quickly as they made their way towards Jason and forcing Carly to take a step further back. Whether the new arrival would recognize her in the shadows or not, she wasn't certain, but she sure as hell recognized him and did not need to take a risk of him seeing her and telling Jason.  
  
“Hey, I'm not late, am I,” Johnny Zacchara asked, slipping onto the same bench that her best friend was occupying. The ease between the two men surprised her, especially since, if she knew Jason at all, he wouldn't have been too keen on Sonny's arrangements for him to train the mob heir.  
  
“No, I was just thinking.”  
  
“Yeah, the water's good for that,” the younger man agreed, leaning back. Folding his hands in his lap, she watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don't know what it is about waves, even the weak ones on this lake, but they're relaxing, helps me quiet the noise in my head long enough to think.” All the kid needed was a leather jacket and a motorcycle, and he could have been more than Jason's protégé; he could have been his mini-me.  
  
For several moments, neither man spoke. They simply existed together in a state of calm. The ease between them unsettled Carly, though, because trust between Sonny's wayward enforcer and Anthony Zacchara's son had never been a part of the plan. After all, if some sort of weird friendship sprang up between the two of them, who knows what kind of information could be revealed. For that matter, she wasn't sure what Johnny even knew about his father's actions concerning his partnership with Sonny. Although her ex had shared the generalities of his plan with her, due in part to keeping her paranoia and plotting under control, he had been skimpy with the details. Never before had Sonny's control issues threatened to come back and bite them so much... or so hard.  
  
Finally, it was Johnny who broke the stillness. “Do you want to talk about it... whatever it is that's on your mind?” When Jason didn't respond, he pressed, “look, I know you haven't known me for very long, but...”  
  
“It's not that,” her best friend interrupted. “Right now, after everything that I've learned and everything that I've figured I haven't learned yet, you're probably the only person who has been honest with me so far about this whole situation. I'm just not sure you want to know what I'm thinking about it.”  
  
“Well, why don't you let me be the judge of that. Start talking,” the younger man suggested, “and, if you say something I don't like or think I'd be better off not knowing, then I'll stop you.”  
  
The shrug Jason offered him, Carly knew, translated into fair enough. “It's not so much that I'm against helping you learn this business,” he explained. “I'd much rather know that, in the future, our organizations will be able to work together, trust each other. Peace is always better than going to war, and you seem like a smart enough kid.”  
  
Chuckling, Johnny said, “thanks, thanks a lot.”  
  
Evidently, their connection was, at least, to the stage of joking around with each other, and Jason rarely joked with her. Clenching her teeth in frustration, Carly had to restrain herself from calling Sonny right that second, but, in doing so, she'd either give her position away or force herself into having to leave, and she refused to go anywhere until she knew where to find Jason later. So, showing more restraint than she cared to even admit she possessed, she shoved her natural instincts aside and continued listening.  
  
“But, putting all that aside, I need to know about this deal between Sonny and your father. I'm not just some lackey, and I was pretty much out of the business except for performing a few odd jobs every once in a while. I came back to town, a place I never wanted to return to, because Sonny said it was important, but what it feels like is that I'm getting jerked around, like I'm being controlled, and lied to, and told a bunch of bullshit that doesn't make any sense. I don't like it.”  
  
“So far, I agree with everything that you're saying, and trust me, if anyone can understand what it feels like to be someone else's puppet, to hate not having a say in your own life, it's me. What I don't know, though, is how I can help.”  
  
“Sonny's... suspicious,” Jason explained, lifting a hand to scrub wearily against the side of his face. “He doesn't trust people easily, and, knowing him the way I do, he never told the other men about this deal that he made with your dad. Whatever it is Anthony did for him, Sonny's kept it close to the vest, I can pretty much guarantee that, so there's no one I can go to in my own organization for help.”  
  
“Hey, I don't know the details,” Johnny protested, holding up his hands. “If I did, I would have already told you, but my father doesn't trust me either. Despite the fact that I'm going to inherit the business soon, I'm still on a need to know basis.”  
  
“I'm aware of that, and I appreciate your willingness to help me even if you don't know anything yourself, but what I'm hoping is that you'll be able to tell me someone else in your father's organization who might,” Jason said. “I know it's asking for a lot, and I wouldn't do this if I had any other...”  
  
“Diane Miller,” the younger man interjected. From her position in the shadows, Carly screwed her face up. Who the hell was Diane Miller? If there was anything she knew about the business, it was the fact that women did not participate. Did old man Zacchara have some secret lover no one was aware of? She almost giggled out loud at the thought of Anthony sneaking off to be with his mistress and of his son knowing about the woman and spilling the beans to Jason, but, when the next words from Johnny's lips flowed across her ears, all her amusement evaporated. “She's my dad's lawyer.” Of course she would be a lawyer, Carly realized, narrowing her gaze in annoyance. What was it with mobsters and their female mouth pieces? “She's loyal, and she's good at her job, but she also has a conscious, believe it or not,” the kid explained his suggestion, “and she has a heart, too, even if she does try to hide the fact from the rest of the world... and my father. Usually, she's pretty discreet, but she's also aware of my dad's many shortcomings, and, if there would be anybody who could sympathize with your situation, she'd be it.”  
  
Standing, Jason shook Johnny's hand. “Thanks. I appreciate this.”  
  
“All I ask is that, when you figure out what's going on, you fill me in as well.”  
  
“I can do that,” her best friend readily agreed.  
  
Although the situation wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it was in the beginning – after all, neither of them really had any idea what was going on, and, if anybody knew just how tight lipped a crime boss' attorney would be, it was Carly, so she wasn't concerned that Diane Miller, Anthony's personal lawyer and, no doubt, bed warmer if he was anything like Sonny, would keep the old man's confidence intact. However, she would make sure to keep an eye on the situation just to make sure things continued to go her way as soon as she weaseled her way back into Jason's life and inner circle.  
  
“Look, I have some more things to do today...”  
  
“Hey, man,” Johnny spoke up. “That's fine. I understand. I actually have some errands to run myself.”  
  
“While you're here, though,” Jason told him, “I figured I should probably show you where I'm staying. It'll be safer for us to meet there from now on, and, plus, you'll know where to find me if you ever need anything.”  
  
“Sounds good.”  
  
At the kid's apparent acquiescence, her best friend nodded towards the alley behind the docks, taking the steps two at a time as the Zacchara heir followed him. “It's just a few minutes away,” he said. “I'm staying at... an old's friend's place, her old studio.”  
  
As soon as both men were out of sight, Carly exploded. Stomping her foot and nearly snapping the heel off her expensive, designer sandal, she fumed. “Elizabeth Fucking Webber,” she hissed. “I should have known.” Spinning away from her hiding place, she hurried back to Kelly's, a plan on how to confront and control Jason already forming in her overworking mind. 

} ~ {

Dressed in a crisp, charcoal gray suit, sans tie, and with his black shirt underneath unbuttoned slightly at the collar, Sonny smiled to himself as he casually walked down the steps of his penthouse, dimples on full display despite the fact that no one was there to see them. It was nearly 10:30, and he had the idea to surprise Alexis and take her out for an impromptu brunch. Despite everything, he was in a good mood. Jason was back in town, and, though his first few meetings with the younger man had been tense, Sonny knew his enforcer would soon be back to following orders and respecting his decisions as always, and, once he was, his debt to the Zacchara organization would be quickly paid off, and that would be one less thing he'd have to worry about. With the birth of his child with Alexis approaching quickly, he knew that they could use a little less stress in their lives, especially if he was going to convince her to eventually move in with him.  
  
“Max, pull the car around,” he ordered cheerfully as he opened the door to his apartment only for his smile to fade as he took in the scene before him. His guard was tense and looking at him with undisguised suspicion, all because the recent bane of his existence, Anthony Zacchara, was standing on his doorstep. “What the hell are you doing here,” he attacked the old man.  
  
“It's lovely to see you, too, Sonny,” Anthony returned, breezing his way without invitation into the penthouse. Since the door was still open, he continued to put on a show. “I'm fine, thanks for asking, and how are you, your wife, your ex-wife, your children? I hope everyone is... safe.”  
  
There was no mistaking the hint of warning, of threat in the rival mob boss' tone. In response, Sonny growled, “never mind, Max. Mr. Zacchara and I need to have a few words. Until he leaves, I do not want to be interrupted. Got it?” Without waiting for an agreement, he slammed the door in the guard's face. Pivoting to glare at his guest, he snapped, “you have some nerve, old man, showing up here.”  
  
“I know, and it worked like a charm, too.” Seeing that Sonny was too irate to comment, Anthony moved about the room, repositioning knickknacks, unstoppering the liquor only to sniff and then turn his nose up against the alcohol. Finally taking a seat, he crossed his legs before explaining, “as you know, I never attend meetings; I take them. If people want an audience with me, they come to me, but yesterday I made an exception.”  
  
“Who was the poor, lucky bastard,” Sonny mocked, not showing such restraint when he approached his bar and poured himself several fingers of his favorite bourbon.  
  
“That's none of your damn business, Corinthos, and, if I were you, I'd stop asking the questions right now.” As quick as the anger appeared, it was gone, and Anthony was, once more, in control. “Anyway, leaving my home to go to a meeting somewhere else actually worked to my advantage yesterday. You know, it's amazing what can happen when you least expect it. I'm not normally a man who believes in chance and happenstance, but, boy, did it slap me in the face yesterday. So,” leaning back against the sofa, the older man spread his arms out wide behind him on the edge of the couch. “I decided to try the approach again, see if I could make doing the unexpected work to my advantage for a second time.”  
  
“You talk way too damn much, Zacchara!”  
  
Anthony snickered. “This from the man who knocked up and married his attorney. Please! If anything, I should probably just watch what I say, make sure I don't accidentally throw in any law jargon, because, otherwise, the next thing I know, you'll be dry humping my leg like a fucking dog in heat.”  
  
Downing his drink in one swallow, Sonny clenched his crystal tumbler in his left fist almost to the point of breaking the delicate barware. “If you don't get to the point and soon...”  
  
Bellowing, Anthony interrupted, “get that damn pretty boy of yours, Morgan, in his place, Corinthos, or else!”  
  
“Or else what,” he challenged, laughing smugly. “ _You're_ going to go after Jason? Have fun with that, old man.”  
  
“No, or else I'll send him after you.” With his attention riveted upon his rival, Sonny listened as the other crime lord warned, “Morgan's been sniffing around, asking questions about the past, trying to dig up things we both know you'd rather have stayed buried. Instead of doing his job and training my son, he's off playing detective. Either get him to stop and go back under your tiny, ineffectual thumb, or maybe I'll just have no choice but to spill the beans about our little arrangement. And that would be a shame, too, wouldn't it – what, with the lovely Miss Davis in such a delicate condition. After all, Morgan's not the type of man to forgive disloyalty easily.” Standing, Anthony buttoned his jacket. When he spoke, his voice dripped with sarcasm. “Luckily for you, though, you're a soft boss. You don't go after women and children, right, so, surely, your number one man wouldn't go after you personally for revenge.” Practically dancing across the great room until he reached the door, the older man sang, “an eye for an eye, a family for a...,” until he slipped out into the hall, leaving Sonny feeling even more unsettled than ever. He couldn't even remember that, not just ten minutes before, he had been in a good mood.  
  
“Max,” he bellowed for his doorman. When the bulky guard appeared, he ordered, “call a meeting with all the men... except Jason. We're doubling security.”

} ~ {

She didn't know why she was so nervous, why she had taken so long while dressing both she and Cate that morning, why it was so damn important to her that she make a good impression with her uncle and sister. A little nagging voice in the back of Maxie's mind told her that it was because she wanted their approval, wanted them, for once, to be proud of her, but she shoved that voice away, ignored it, for she didn't care what anybody thought of her... well, besides those who were important enough to make or break her future career in fashion, and her family certainly didn't fall into that category.  
  
“Now, remember what I said,” she told the little girl standing at her side and holding onto her hand as tightly as her four year old fingers could grip. “Keep your ankles crossed, do not repeat anything you overheard on the plane ride over here, and, whatever you do, don't let them make you feel bad about yourself.”  
  
Feeling confident that her charge was ready to face the gauntlet ahead, Maxie nodded to herself in reassurance. No matter what happened, she could do this. She could face the lion's den and come out on the other side with both her dignity and her confidence intact. Shifting the takeout she had ordered from The Grill, allowing the bags of food to slid down past her wrist to rest in the crook of her elbow, she lifted her right hand to ring the bell of her former home, swallowing past the lump of bile that quickly rose in the back of her throat at the very thought of walking back into the house she had barely managed to escape years before.  
  
When the door swung open, she schooled her features into a bright, friendly smile, her cheeks aching from the sheer effort such a gesture took. “Oh my god,” Georgie exclaimed, immediately reaching out to hug her sister. The greeting was awkward, though, because Maxie refused to let go of either Cate or the food. Stepping back, her younger sister said, “you're here.” Finally noticing the little girl at Maxie's side, she amended, “you're both here, but what... Robin called and said that she was sending us a surprise, but we never....”  
  
“And people say the French are rude, Cate,” the nanny sneered, part in jest and part seriously. The four year old snickered, and Georgie immediately looked contrite.  
  
“I'm sorry, please, come in.” As they walked into the Scorpio-Jones home, her younger sister immediately asked, “can I get you anything, something to drink, something to...?”  
  
“We're fine. We brought lunch,” she said, shoving the bag of takeout into her sibling's arms. “Where's Mac?” After all, the sooner the two of them spent time with both her sister and her stepfather, the sooner they could leave and retreat back to the safety of their hotel suite.  
  
“Georgie, did I hear somebody at the...,” the cop's words trailed off as he saw her standing in the living room, clutching a little girl's hand. “Oh, wow,” he beamed, rushing to, just like Georgie, give her an awkward hug. “This is certainly a surprise, like Robin said. Why isn't she with you, though?”  
  
“Oh, she wanted to go and see Alan first thing today,” Maxie answered, waving off his concerns with a simple flip of her manicured hand.  
  
Panic and worry immediately flashed across her stepdad's features. “Is she alright?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You said that she was going to meet with Alan, her doctor,” Mac explained, taking a step towards her. “Is something wrong? Is the cocktail not working anymore?”  
  
“Of course it's still working,” she practically yelled at the man. Boy, she was away for just a few years and somehow already managed to forget just how claustrophobic he made her feel. “If it wasn't, you would have heard about it. She went to GH to see about a job. Geez, overreact much?”  
  
“A job,” Georgie questioned, “as in here in Port Charles?”  
  
Rolling her eyes, she snarked, “no, in General Hospital's Nice branch. Of course, here in Port Charles. What,” she questioned flippantly, “did you fall off the stupid wagon while I was gone?”  
  
“Maxie,” Mac barked in reprimand. Taking a deep breath, he fisted his hands on his hips. “You're going to have to give us a few minutes to catch up here, okay? The last we knew the three of you were happy in Paris.”  
  
“We were.” The words were said so succinctly, so harshly, there was no mistaking her lack of enthusiasm towards their sudden move back to the states. Titling her head back to a proud angle, she added, “in fact, I'll be going back to Paris in three weeks. I just agreed to come along to help Robin and Cate get settled in.”  
  
“Three weeks, Maxie,” her sister taunted. “How generous of you.”  
  
“Hey, two weeks is what's considered common courtesy. Robin got three because she's family.”  
  
Steering all of them towards the sitting area, Mac sat in the chair and waited for his two step-daughters and great-niece to join him on the couch. “While you're here, though, you could at least consider the idea of staying longer, maybe look into PCU.”  
  
“If I wanted to go to college, Mac, Paris has school's too, you know. Besides,” she waved off his suggestion, hoping he would allow it drop, “I'm here more to help unpack, help find a new nanny for Cate, and to help make sure Cate feels safe and secure here.”  
  
“And what are you going to do when you return,” he wanted to know. “You'll be out of a job, you'll have no place to live, and I don't even want to think about you in a city like Paris without any supervision.”  
  
“Excuse me,” Maxie challenged, standing up. Because she still held Cate's hand in her own, the little girl was forced to stand as well, but she just giggled at the apparent game of musical chairs and at the disagreement occurring between the adults. “I'm not some wild teenager on the loose over there, Mac! For four years, I've been taking care of Robin's child for her while she made a name for herself as a doctor. For four years, I've paid for my own way in the world. Whether or not you agree with how I did that or with how I spent my money, well, I just don't care. As for what I'll do when I go back to Paris, that's my business.”  
  
“We're just worried about you,” Georgie spoke up softly in an attempt to play the peacemaker. “We want to make sure that you're happy, and safe, and that nothing bad will happen to you.”  
  
“And we don't want you to have to work for other people, watching other people's children for the rest of your life,” her stepfather added. “I've allowed this little rebellion of yours to go on long enough. It's time that you sat down and really started to think about your future.”  
  
“Oh, you mean it's time for me to take my head out of the clouds and start studying to be a doctor like Robin? Well, guess what,” she yelled, glaring at the only steady parental figure she'd ever had. “I don't want to be a doctor, but, if I did, you can bet your ass I'd be a better one than your precious niece!”  
  
Coming to his feet as well, Mac raised his voice to say, “well, you obviously like to argue, so what about law?”  
  
She laughed out loud in his face. “Yeah, because Georgie and I have so much in common, and I want to spend the rest of my life working with criminals and jackasses. Uh, no.”  
  
“Teaching,” Georgie suggested helpfully. “You obviously like children.”  
  
“No, I like Cate... as in _one_ child. There's no way I could handle ten at a time.”  
  
“More like twenty or twenty-five,” her sister pointed out, making Maxie gasp in horror.  
  
“Alright, fine, you don't like any of these ideas, but there are hundreds of potential career options out there for you,” Mac reasoned. “We just need to sit down with an admissions counsel and figure out what you want to do with your life.”  
  
“Too bad I already know what I want to do with my life.” Before he could protest, she held up a solitary, slender digit, the fake costume ring she wore reflecting brightly in the early afternoon sunlight streaming in through the open wooden blinds. “And, no, for your information, I do not want to be a nanny forever. I want to be a designer.”  
  
Collapsing back into his chair, her stepfather grumbled, “you've got to be kidding...”  
  
“Besides, why the two of you thought that I'd ever want to go back to school is beyond me. I barely survived it the first time, what with my heart transplant and making it like Pam and Tommy with Kyle, not to mention all the other stuff in between, some of which you don't even know about. Whether you like it or not, I know what I want to do with my life, and, while it might not be what you want for me, it's my decision to make. I don't ask you to pay my way. Hell, I don't even ask for your moral support, because I know I won't get it. All I'm asking is for you to leave me alone to make my own mistakes.”  
  
“I'm sorry, Maxie,” Mac stated, taking a step towards her only for her to take several away from him, “but I can't do that.”  
  
“And that's why I can't stay here, why, in three weeks' time, I'll be going back to Paris, with or without your blessing. Enjoy the lunch,” she told her sister, nodding towards the bag of food Georgie still held. “It's on me, on my pathetic, insignificant, embarrassing nanny salary. We shouldn't have come here, though; it was a mistake. We'll show ourselves out.”  
  
Despite the fact that she had been silent during the entire visit, it was Cate who had the last word. Just as they were crossing the threshold of the doorway, she turned back around, glowered at the two adults they were leaving behind, and yelled, “your shoes are ugly!”  
  
It was the meanest insult Maxie had taught her yet. Never before, had she been more proud of the little girl. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

While she waited to meet and speak with Alan, she, unfortunately, did not wait alone.  
  
Although they had yet to exchange words, Robin already knew that she did not like the man sitting next to her. Relaxed, at ease, his posture was the exact opposite of her own. With her legs crossed one over the other, her knees pressed so tightly together that her calf muscles protested the abuse, the young, single mother relied upon the tension to keep her irrational anger at bay. If it wasn't for her discomfort, she had no doubt that she would attack the stranger.  
  
There was just something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was his perfect hair with the effortless highlights, highlights nearly impossible to detect whether they were natural or from a salon, and post-sex, tousled look. It could have been his smirking eyes with eyebrows so neat there was no way they were not waxed. Or it might have been his skin, skin so blemish free and soft looking, her skin was jealous. Or his charming, smarmy smile, his regal, aristocratic nose, his long, lean, tanned neck that just begged for her... hands to choke it, or, perhaps, it was his carefree grace, the way his impeccable clothes seemed custom made to fit his lithe yet strong body, a body that would look amazing being run over by a blazing, relentless taxi.  
  
Gritting her teeth together and clenching her fists, Robin glared at the other doctor, for, simply by glancing in his direction, she knew he could be nothing else. Even if they weren't sitting in the office of General Hospital's chief of staff, she would have been able to tell the man's profession. He simply oozed the kind of cock-sure, smugness all _male_ doctors seemed to possess. But that wasn't all he oozed. After spending just five minutes in his presence, she already knew that he was arrogant, prideful, shameless, uncouth, a flirt, and, perhaps, worst of all, chauvinistic. Simply because he had a penis, the stranger obviously believed he was better than her and every other woman he came into contact with. What she wouldn't give to knock him down a few....  
  
“Alright, fine,” the man next to her said calmly, his sudden introduction of conversation between them startling her slightly, not enough so that she would show a reaction but enough to make her attention skip momentarily. “I'll bite.” Twisting in his seat to face her, he asked, “would you be so kind as to tell me why exactly you've been staring at me the entire time you've been in this room? What, do I have something on my face?”  
  
Robin regarded him coolly, her disdain and disagreement towards his assumptions and allegations shining through her icy exterior. With a narrowed gaze, she refuted, “I wasn't staring, and the only way you would know that I was _occasionally_ glancing in your direction was if you were watching me.”  
  
“That still doesn't answer my question.”  
  
For several silent, tense moments, she debated what to say. While she could take the high road and admit that there was absolutely nothing wrong with his face... if you liked that pretty boy, metrosexual style which she certainly did not, the petty, immature part of her wanted to take the other doctor down a peg or two, perhaps set him on edge as much as his presence in Alan's office unnerved her. Though she had not made an appointment to meet with the chief of staff, they had been friends for years, and she knew he would never turn her away. Plus, she had been excited to see him, didn't want to wait, and had hoped that she'd be able to surprise him that afternoon with both her sudden arrival in Port Charles and her desire to come to work for him. The man next to her had ruined her entire plan completely, and, for that, she decided he needed to suffer.  
  
“Oh, it's nothing important,” she waved off his concern, offering the conceited prick a fake, coddling smile. Rubbing the area between her own eyes at the very top of her nose's bridge, she explained, “I think you're just getting a zit or something right there. Give it a week or two, and you should be as good as new... well, except for a slight scar.”  
  
She hadn't been sure where to lie and claim he was starting to get a pimple. The end of his nose would have been simply too obvious, his chin too easy to disguise with stubble, but on his forehead between his rich, dark, pompous eyes and finely tweezed – she hoped it hurt and made him cry – eyebrows would be both impossible to hide and ignore and, perhaps, even painful... if it were real. The pretty boy deserved such a maligning sight upon his chiseled, cocky face.  
  
“Now, you're just being petty, because we both know that you're lying. I do not get pimples or, for that matter, zits.”  
  
Holding up her hands in faux surrender, Robin said, “fine, tell that to your third eye when you next look in the mirror.”  
  
Smirking, the stranger queried, “what? Don't tell me. You're you a dermatologist.”  
  
She gasped in effrontery. “Take that back!”  
  
“Hey, if the skin fascination fits....”  
  
Standing up, she backed away from the shallow, rude man, casting mental daggers in his direction as she moved. While she might have been calling him names silently in her own mind, she hadn't gone so far as to insult him out loud, and, of all the things he could have said about her.... She wouldn't have minded if he said her dress was frumpy, or her shoes were ready for the retirement home, or that a fellow doctor should be passed their juvenile rebellion stage, referring to her pierced nose, but to insult her professionally, to degrade her status as an HIV/AIDS researcher to someone as low on the medical totem pole as a dermatologist, well, frankly, that was just inexcusable.  
  
Unable to bite her lip any longer, she snipped, “at least I don't use my stethoscope to check my reflection.”  
  
“Maybe you should.”  
  
Astonishing him, she laughed, but the sound did not contain any warmth or humor. Rather, it was laced with disdain, contempt, and derision. “Oh, if I were you, I'd enjoy this afternoon for all its worth, because it's going to be the last one you spend here unless you become a patient, but, then again, with your stellar personality, it wouldn't surprise me if you couldn't make it out of Port Charles before someone came after you.”  
  
He leaned back casually, tossing his right arm over the back of the chair she had just vacated. “Is that a threat?”  
  
“Just a keen observation. I am not a difficult person to get along with.” Ignoring the stranger's snort of disagreement, she continued on undaunted. “So, the chances are that, while you've been here, you've rubbed other people the wrong way, too.”  
  
“Actually, and I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, but I haven't done any _rubbing_ this afternoon yet.” She could tell by the gleam in his deep... no, shallow, _very_ shallow gaze that he wasn't referring to an innocent brushing of arms or even about a commonplace handshake. “However, if you're volunteering for the job....” Glancing at his watch, he said, “we still have about fifteen minutes before Doctor Quartermaine gets out of surgery. We could, together, of course, rectify that mistake.”  
  
“Rectify, huh,” Robin parroted, cocking her hips and fisting her hands upon them. Titling her head to the side, she ran her gaze up and down the man before her in an appraising manner. “That's an interesting choice of words, doctor.”  
  
“Drake,” he answered. As if _she_ actually wanted to know what his name was. “Doctor Patrick Drake, Neurosurgeon. And you?”  
  
What? Did he think he was James Bond or something... emphasis on the something, because, no matter what the creep before her was trying to sell, she certainly wasn't buying.  
  
“Robin Scorpio, Doctor Robin Scorpio. I specialize in HIV/AIDS research and treatment and just so happen to be a close, personal friend of the entire Quartermaine family.”  
  
“You know,” the smug bastard stated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I had heard a few things about the Q's, but, until now, I didn't believe them. I mean, really – sleeping with a son and a grandson? That sounded like something straight out of a tacky romance novel.” In her opinion, if anyone was going to know tacky.... “But, if you're a close, _personal_ friend of the _entire_ Quartermaine family... maybe Monica and Ned's affair wasn't so scandalous after all.”  
  
“Oh, that's it,” she warned, threatened, and promised. Really, at that point, she wasn't sure what she was doing or saying or thinking. Rather, she was simply reacting, going on impulse. “When I get done informing Alan all about our little conversation here this afternoon, forget General Hospital; you'll never work for another medical institution in this state! You probably shouldn't even bother applying.”  
  
Yanking her purse up off of the floor where she had placed it beside her former chair, Robin went to exit, but the arrogant ass' words froze her in her place. “I know,” he replied, shocking her that he was seemingly agreeing with her, but she should have known better. “Because I've already been hired.”  
  
She knew that the next words out of her mouth were going to be wrong. No matter what, she loved Alan. It wasn't his fault that, apparently, he lacked good judgment and foresight when it came to hiring new staff for his hospital, and, if it was any other person, any one else who didn't push her buttons so easily, so well, she never would have taken a potshot at someone she cared for in order to get the last word in an argument, but Doctor Patrick Drake – It Couldn't be a Coincidence His Name Rhymed with Snake and Rake – deserved every last insult she could dish out... even if it came at Alan's expense.  
  
“Well, apparently, he's back on drugs again.”  
  
Before the cad could respond, she marched out of the chief of staff's office, slammed the door behind her, and found the first unfortunate employee she could. Chasing after the blonde nurse who had just left a patient's room several doors down, Robin yelled, “hey, you there! Wait, please!” Because of her heels, she came to a skidding halt when she caught up with the young woman. “Listen, I know playing secretary isn't in your job description, but could you....” Glancing down at the other woman's name tag, she continued, “Nadine, give Doctor Quartermaine a message for me?”  
  
The smirk that accompanied the nurse's response made Robin pause slightly. The blonde seemed friendly but not _too_ friendly. “Sure... I guess.”  
  
“Can you please just tell him to forget everything I said in my message. I changed my mind.” Walking away, she remembered that the other woman wouldn't know _who_ she was to tell Alan that they had spoken to each other. Pivoting around on her toes, she called out, “oh, and my name is Robin.”  
  
Nadine remarked, “it was nice to meet you.”  
  
For that, she returned the other woman's smirk and offered her one last, parting piece of advice if for no other reason than because, if she had decided to work at GH, she had a feeling they could have been friends. “If I were you, I'd avoid the new neurosurgeon no matter what. That's a mess no woman should have to deal with, let alone clean up. Trust me on this. You won't be sorry.”  
  
But someday the selfish, soulless, spineless weasel in Alan's office would be. She'd make damn sure of it!

} ~ {

Diane Miller was obviously a successful woman and, if he had to guess, he would wager that she was more to the point, more direct, and more hard working than almost every man he had ever met. By no means was he an expert on interior design, but Jason had been in _the business_ for several years. Granted, for the past five and a half, he had been out of town, mainly out of the country, but that did not take away any of his observation or judgment skills. In fact, in his opinion, traveling the world and meeting so many new, unique people – even if only on a surface level – had made him actually better at his job, for, in his opinion, the more a man knew of the human race, the easier it was to understand them, to categorize them, to determine how and what made them tick. Anthony Zacchara's attorney was no different.  
  
Since he had awakened from his coma, he had dealt with many different lawyers. The first Jason could remember were those from the hospital. He remembered their offices being cluttered, files and folders full of papers stacked as high on the floor as their desks. The offices themselves had been bland, nondescript, as though they were only stepping stones. General Hospital's lawyers had been determined to move on.  
  
Then there was the Quartermaine family attorneys. They had bothered him even more than the hospital's, because their offices had been too neat and orderly, had possessed too much personality and all of it his grandfather's. It had been obvious that the lawyers who worked for ELQ were there not to serve the law but to suck up to the old man. They surrounded themselves with things they knew Edward liked, pretended that his hobbies were their hobbies, and never allowed a paper clip to fall out of place. Although Jason did not take issue with the idea of neatness, in fact he was considered rather meticulous himself, he did resent it if it was insincere.  
  
Sonny's lawyers over the years had been the exact opposite. Besides the pay and the challenge of the work, he had a feeling one of the appeals of the job was that Sonny didn't care about his attorney's personal lives. As long as they worked hard and kept he and his men out of prison, they could do whatever the hell they wanted out of the office, and their work spaces reflected that. Their personalities were reflected, too, especially Alexis' office. Whereas she evidently felt it important to keep the top of her desk clean – whether for her own state of mind or to present a more professional appearance, he wasn't sure, it never failed that there would be popcorn kernels, pen lids, and paper scraps littering the floor underneath her work space. She had plants, but must have forgotten to water them, because they were always dead, and there were dozens of random pens strewn across the office, as if she had been busy working, got distracted, and then forgot to either take her pen with her or pick it up later. Diane Miller's office, though, was unlike any other attorney's office he had ever stepped foot in before.  
  
The décor was masculine in color and texture, and he had a feeling the lawyer had chosen her furnishings in order to make her mostly male clientèle feel more comfortable in her office. The furniture was leather - a soft, rich, buttery maroon leather, obviously expensive, but the cushions weren't padded too much, probably in an effort to keep her clients awake during meetings. Instead of carpet like he found in most women's offices, the floors were a deep hardwood, waxed to prevent scuff marks and highly polished to reflect both the natural and unnatural light in the room. The windows were positioned behind the lawyer's desk, better situated to provide her with sunlight when Port Charles' weather was actually accommodating, but they also had blinds so that, if dreary, the outside world could be shuttered off, hidden away so as to not be a distraction. And, though he kept all the lamps off, he could see just by looking that there were many of them to boost the quantity of light but that their illumination was soft and not fluorescent, of a better quality as well.  
  
All the filing cabinets were located in the outer office where, evidently, her assistant or paralegal worked, but all her law books were kept in bookshelves in her office, neatly lined and organized to both be visually appealing and easy to access. The bottom half of the walls were lined with mahogany beadboard which, in color, matched both the hardwood floor and the various wooden pieces of furniture about the room, while the top half of the walls were painted a neutral yet warm shade of off white - beige or eggshell or some other ridiculous color that sounded fancy but was really just off white when it came down to brass tacks. As for any of the office's distractions – the television, the CD player, the bar, they were all located behind closed, cupboard doors, there but unseen unless the attorney wanted her clients to be aware of them, and she obviously treated her actual work the same way.  
  
Nothing rested on top of the lawyer's desk except for her gold name plate, her phone, her pen and ink blotter, and an unused, open legal pad of paper. Anything else, and he knew there had to be other things, were secreted away in locked desk drawers. Not that he had tried to open them, but Miss Miller's precautions had been evident as soon as he glanced at her workspace. He was impressed by the fact that she didn't clutter her desk with picture frames and arrangements of flowers, with fancy knickknacks and expensive trinkets. With a single glance, anyone who stepped foot in the attorney's office would know that the room was used for productivity and work only; Diane Miller saved everything else for her home.  
  
He had been waiting for thirty-five minutes, arriving twenty minutes into the lawyer's designated lunch time. Calling ahead, he had listened to the message that provided the office's hours, choosing to slip into the lawyer's place of work when she wasn't there and when the office building was fairly empty in order to avoid detection. Without touching or altering anything, at least without his gloves on, he had observed his surroundings, made sure he was safe, before taking a seat to wait for the lawyer to return. It was five minutes before one, she was early just as he had anticipated such an obviously dedicated professional would be, and he was confident after studying Miss Miller's surroundings that, if anyone was going to be able to help him, it was going to be her.  
  
When the attorney entered, he observed her person just as carefully as he had observed her office. If Diane Miller showed restraint when it came to her interior decorating, the same could not be said about her state of dress. Jason knew even less about clothes than he did about furniture, but even he could tell that the lawyer's suit was expensive and designer, perhaps even designed _for_ her. But what caught his attention the most were her shoes. They were even louder, brighter than her red hair, and that was certainly saying something, but both were obviously statements the professional was making about her personality – loud, opinionated, and sharp.  
  
Standing, he went to clear his throat by way of announcing his presence, but, before he could even take a step forward or even take a breath, Diane Miller was rounding on him, using her attache case as a shield. “Take one step further, and I'll knock your block off, mister. I know kung fu.”  
  
“No,” he argued, his brows lifting in challenge. “You don't, but you are Anthony Zacchara's attorney, so you probably have a gun hidden in here somewhere.”  
  
“If you know that much about me already, am I supposed to believe that you didn't search my office while I was gone, finding my gun and confiscating it along with who knows what else. I'm telling you right now, if you dared to swipe even a single grimy finger against my haute couture...”  
  
“Lady, your hot whatever...”  
  
“Haute couture,” Diane corrected him.  
  
He ignored her. “I didn't break into anything, and I didn't steal your gun.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, shuffled, and then looked back up in order to meet the fiery attorney's unflinching gaze. He had made a poor decision to scope the place out before he met with her. He should have just taken his chances of an ambush and made an appointment like everybody else. But it was too late, and hindsight wasn't going to get him any answers, so he had to find some way to get Miss Miller to trust him. Trying to bleed as much sincerity into his next statement as he possibly could, Jason confessed, “I need your help, and I didn't think you'd be too inclined to offer it if I picked the locks on your desk and rifled through your things.”  
  
“So, good looking _and_ smart, huh? Well, at least I know you don't work for Mr. Zacchara or one of his rivals.”  
  
“Actually....”  
  
“Oh, hell,” Diane swore, moving to stand behind her desk and then collapsing into her chair. “What's your name, who did you _allegedly_ kill, and, please, god, tell me you have a damn alibi?”  
  
“I'm Jason Morgan, and I'm not here because I was charged with killing someone.”  
  
Leaning back, the attorney folded her arms over her chest, eying him the entire time. “Then why are you here, and, by the way, just so we're clear, I noticed that you didn't deny ever killing someone; you just haven't been caught. Yet.”  
  
For some reason, standing before the woman as she lounged and accessed him made Jason nervous. It was like Miss Miller was sizing him up, studying him, and forming a snap decision opinion, and, though he was known to do such a thing himself and do it well, he didn't appreciate the skill being turned around upon him. Deciding to even the playing field somewhat even if his next move irked the lawyer, he reclaimed his former seat, gripping the sides of the chair and crossing his feet at the ankles. “Johnny sent me.”  
  
“Well, why didn't you say that in the first place,” Diane snapped, her chair rocking forward at the same time as she sat up straight. “Johnny's always been good to me – never forgets my birthday, always sends me flowers on National Lawyer's Day,” - they actually _had_ one of those, Jason silently questioned himself - “and he has impeccable taste in shoes.” Apparently, if one wanted to get in good with the woman sitting across from him, one needed to pay attention to what they put on their feet. So much for the two of them working well together.... “If you're a friend of Johnny's, then you're a friend of mine. So, tell me, Mr. Morgan, what is it exactly that you need my expert help with?”  
  
“I need to know everything and anything you might be aware of that ties your client, Anthony Zacchara, to Sonny Corinthos.”  
  
“Your boss,” she stated. Whether the comment was meant as a question or to remind him where his loyalties should have resided, he wasn't sure, and, at that point, Jason wasn't even positive if he was loyal to Sonny anymore or not.  
  
“Without my knowledge, they entered into some sort of partnership, one where I would train Johnny to take over his father's business once he became of age.”  
  
“And in return,” the attorney asked.  
  
“That's what I want you to tell me,” Jason explained. “Despite the fact that I'm getting my chains yanked here, nobody will tell me what's going on, and Johnny doesn't have a clue either.”  
  
“Well, Anthony's always kept him in the dark,” Miss Miller stated.  
  
“But I haven't been... or, at least, I'm not supposed to be,” he countered. “Just because I've been out of town for a few years, that doesn't mean that Sonny can keep something this important from me, especially not something that concerns me and is the reason he called me back to town in the first place.”  
  
Calmly, complacently, Diane folded her hands upon her desk, leveling her sympathetic gaze in his direction. “Though I can understand your need for answers, Mr. Morgan, I'm afraid I'm not sure how I can help or even if I legally can. Whether I approve of everything he does or not, Mr. Zacchara is my client. I must respect our attorney-client privilege above all else.”  
  
“I know I'm putting you in an impossible situation by asking you this, but please....” He was begging, and Jason Morgan _never_ begged.   
  
Apparently, the lawyer understood just how desperate he was, because, with a sigh, she nodded, blinking once to show that she would work with him as much as she possibly could. “I'll need a time frame. With an organization as wide reaching and as large as Mr. Zacchara's, I do a lot of work for him.”  
  
“It would have been some time during the year 2000, something probably suspicious, out of the normal, something that, though Sonny could have handled on his own without help, he wouldn't have wanted me to find out about so he had to go to Anthony for help instead.”  
  
As the attorney pondered the parameters he set forth, she remained absolutely silent and still. Her eyes suddenly hard and unfocused, he could see her going back through her mind, rifling through what would, no doubt, be ream after ream of paperwork, hundreds of meetings, and thousands of decisions just for that one year alone. He didn't envy the lawyer the task, but he also had no doubt that, if anybody would be capable of handling it, it would be Diane Miller.  
  
Finally, in a soft, thoughtful voice, the lawyer spoke. “There was nothing during that time, nothing, in fact, during my entire tenure with Anthony Zacchara, that has ever, on paper, connected him with Sonny Corinthos. However, I do remember performing what I thought of then and still consider a rather... odd legal maneuver during the late summer of 2000. I helped to arrange and finalize two anonymous adoptions. The children were born in the state of California, and, honestly, I just thought that Claudia, Anthony's daughter, got herself into some trouble, and he wanted the situation dealt with as quickly and as quietly as possible. Because any children that Claudia would have, especially those out of wedlock, would be inappropriate heirs, Anthony never would have allowed to them carry the Zacchara name, but now, looking back, maybe those adoptions had nothing to do with Claudia or the Zacchara family; maybe they had something to do with Sonny. After all, while my profession might be based upon fact, I am capable of listening to and absorbing rumors, and, let me tell you, there have certainly been a few juicy rumors about Mr. Corinthos' personal life since I've moved to town.”  
  
Sighing, Diane Miller stood up and shrugged. “I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan, but, other than that, I don't think I can offer you any assistance.  
  
“No,” he argued, standing as well and surprising the lawyer by reaching out a hand to shake hers. “You've been more help than you thought.”  
  
Leaving just as quietly as he came in, Jason didn't notice the look of approval Miss Miller cast in his direction. Rather, he had too much on his mind.

} ~ {

Perhaps the worst part about being back in Port Charles was the fact that she had lost her anonymity. In Paris, she didn't feel restricted, stifled, caged in by an entire town's opinion of her, but, being back home, Maxie was reminded of just how close knit of a community she was from. There was no place she could go, no place she could hide (other than her hotel room and even that was chancy considering she knew both the owners of the hotel and went to school with some of the loser staff), and she was feeling trapped.  
  
After her argument with Mac and, in a way, Georgie, too, all she wanted to do was pretend that the rest of the world no longer existed. She wanted to blend in and become unnoticeable. She wanted to forget her problems. But she couldn't do that in Port Charles, because there was not a single restaurant, store, or hangout that she could run to where she wouldn't take the risk of seeing someone she knew, and, if she saw someone she knew, then they would inevitably either feel obligated into asking her about her life or be too nosy to leave her alone. While she might not be embarrassed or ashamed of her life, that didn't mean that she wanted to stand there while other people judged her. She got enough of that from her so-called family; hearing the same derisive words and cutting comments from mere acquaintances would push her over the edge.  
  
The only problem, though, was that she knew Cate had been cooped up inside too much recently. Between round the clock packing their last few days in Paris (how Robin had managed to wrap up their entire lives there so quickly, she'd never know), flying back to the states, and then getting settled into their suite at the PC Hotel, the four year old had been deprived of her usual playtime. There hadn't been excursions to the parks and museums surrounding their old apartment in Paris, walks to window shop, or even play dates to attend, so Maxie knew that she couldn't take her charge back to their rooms yet. Cate was a little girl. Children liked to run, and jump, and burn off more energy in an hour than an adult would ever be able to summon during an entire day, and, if there was any child who deserved everything and anything she wanted, in Maxie's opinion, that was Cate.  
  
So, she pushed aside her own selfish desires, put on a smiling face, and took her honorary niece to the park. At least there she stood a minor chance of escaping the hour without seeing anybody that she had gone to school with. The chances were that, if one of her old classmates did have a kid, because of their age, they didn't have time to take leisurely trips to the park everyday. On the flip side, though, she was outside... in nature, and there were puddles. If she got one speck of dust or dirt or pollen on her latest MJ Original....  
  
“Is this seat taken,” a stranger – a very handsome, apparently wealthy stranger judging by the cut, style, and make of his casual wear – asked as he, without waiting for her to respond, took the unoccupied side of the bench she was perched upon. Well, he was certainly a ray of Dolce and Gabbana wearing sunshine! Who would have thought she'd run into a man who knew his Italian designers in the PC Park? The PC Park was for pimps and prostitutes at night and prams and puppies during the day. Why, he was cute enough that she'd even consider staining her new dress in order to play in the dirt with him.  
  
Sometime during her rumination, the young man beside her turned slightly so that he could look at her, and it was the pull of his steady gaze upon her face which returned her wavering attention to their present situation. “A penny for your thoughts,” he asked.  
  
Huffing impatiently, Maxie complained, “please, at least offer me a euro.”  
  
“You're European? You don't have an accent.”  
  
“French,” she responded easily, the lie rolling off her tongue as smoothly as any well-greased pickup line. Even if her ancestors weren't from France, four years there certainly gave her the right to claim the country as her own... didn't it? Deciding she better, at least, make the answer sound believable, she added, “but I've spent a considerable amount of time in the states.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“I just hate that saying,” the nanny continued petulantly. “I mean, my thoughts are worth more than a piece of copper that costs more to make than its actual value. Besides, hello! Inflation? Ever heard of it? It applies to more than just the cost of living, you know; it applies to cliches and colloquialisms, too.”  
  
The stranger chuckled good-naturedly. “I'll take that under advisement.”  
  
“Damn straight you will.”  
  
“That still doesn't tell me, though, what's bothering you,” he pointed out, not unkindly, and, though he was prying, she forgave him his mistake instantaneously. He was just that cute.  
  
Waving off his concerns, she said, “it's just my family giving me crap and not minding their own business... like usual. I'm fine. I just need to stew for a few hours, and then....”  
  
“If you'd like to talk about it, I would listen,” the man offered, interrupting her.  
  
Up until that point, she had been occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, but, finally, taking her gaze off of Cate, she regarded the stranger carefully. Narrowing her thick, dark lashes at him, she demanded to know, “why? Why do you care?”  
  
He shrugged, the gesture effortless and entirely too cool to be unpracticed. The movement also made her notice how nice the man's shoulders were. “I don't... at least, not really,” he replied at last. “But, at the same time, I'm here; you're here. You're obviously upset, and I'm capable of listening, so I figured why not offer? Besides, didn't you know that listening to other people's problems is supposed to make your own seem less dire?”  
  
“If that was your oh-so-smooth attempt to try and get me to return your offer of a sympathetic ear, forget it. I don't smile politely while other people bitch about their lives. It's depressing, and, frankly, I don't care about what anybody else is going through.”  
  
Again, he snickered. “Well, you're certainly blunt.”  
  
“And honest, and needy, and, nine times out of ten, rude.” Smirking, Maxie added by way of explanation, “I think it's the Parisian in me.”  
  
“No doubt,” the stranger agreed with her, tilting his head in concession. However, by the smirk upturning his kissable mouth, she could tell he was simply humoring her, but she didn't mind. In fact, if nothing else, it made her preen.  
  
Crossing her legs demurely, she looked over in her charge's direction, noticing that the four year old was happily reigning over the slide and ordering the other kids around before returning to the young man beside her. “If you really want to know what's wrong, I'll tell you. My uncle... who's not really my uncle – he was once my stepdad, but he and my mom divorced years ago, despite the fact that she dumped her two kids with him and he raised us without help or support, but it's easier to call him that in public, because it saves me from making a big, long explanation... hates what I'm doing with my life. He wants me to be something that he considers important – like a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher, and he wants me to be just like my perfect sister or my saintly cousin... who, again, is not really my cousin either, and it's driving me crazy!  
  
“Family expectations, especially if they're unrealistic or impossible to actually meet, aren't very pleasant, I'll grant you that, but, at least, it means that your family cares... on some level.”  
  
Despite the fact that it was unladylike and certainly not sexy, Maxie snorted. “At this point, I'd much rather have total apathy. I get that he cares, but I'm not off partying my life alive or shooting heroin up my arm. Hell, I'm not even living with him anymore, haven't for years, so I support myself. It's like he doesn't trust me to make my own decisions. Even if they're the wrong ones, they'll still be mine, but he won't let me take that kind of responsibility, but, at the same time, he yells at me for not living my responsibly.”  
  
Meeting her snapping gaze his with his own calm, serene one, the young man said, “it sounds like your stepdad... uncle... this guy isn't ready to let go of you yet.”  
  
“Well, I left four years ago. It's time to accept the fact, move on, and get a freaking life already.”  
  
For the third time since he sat down, the stranger laughed. “If we continue to talk about the present, I think we're just going to go around in circles, so why don't you tell me what you want to be if you don't want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher.”  
  
“A fashion designer.” She said it without blinking, without hesitation, and with her chin tipped up arrogantly in the air.  
  
Maxie watched as the man beside her allowed his gaze to follow the lines of her body, obviously observing her appearance in detail. After several quiet moments of inspection, he murmured, “now _that_ makes sense.”  
  
“For right now, I'm just a nanny, hence why I'm here in the park in the middle of the afternoon. Hey,” she realized, scanning his face for answers she'd only receive if he felt the inclination to reveal them to her. “Why exactly are you here? I don't see you watching out for a brat or two. There's no ring, so I'm guessing you're not a father either, so what are you – some creep who gets off watching little kids or something?”  
  
“As stunning of a characterization as that was, I'm afraid I'm nothing as... noteworthy,” he responded. “I'm just a guy who was walking through the park, taking it as a shortcut, who saw a beautiful woman sitting on the bench and looking like she'd just lost her puppy.”  
  
“I'd only have a puppy if it came with a cute Louis Vuitton carry bag _and_ a hot manny.”  
  
The stranger rolled his eyes. “I should have known,” but there wasn't any malice or disappointment in his tone.  
  
“Anyway, I watch my sort of cousin but not's kid for her to support myself, and, in the meantime, I keep working on my designs, making my own clothes. People notice the way I dress all the time. I just have to wait until someone important enough or someone wealthy enough does, and then....”  
  
Quirking a dark brow, he finished for her, “and then they'll make you an offer you can't refuse?”  
  
“Yeah, something like that,” Maxie agreed, “but not as slimy, and not as... Sicilian. What are you a Brando buff or something?”  
  
“Or something,” the stranger said cryptically. Before she could press him further, though (or mock him any more), he stood up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out what appeared to be a business card. Flipping it casually in his fingers a few times before handing it to her, he teased, “well, then, if that's all you were waiting for, it looks like today is your lucky day. During the next couple of weeks, work on putting a business pitch together. When you're done, give this number a call.” Glancing down at the card, she saw that a number was all that was printed on it. Confident much? “And we'll set up a meeting to go over your presentation.”  
  
With a slack jaw, Maxie lifted her gaze from the card to the man now standing in front of her. “You're being serious, aren't you?”  
  
Winking in her direction, he said, “you're the one who's classy and worldly, who's from Paris; I'm just some northeastern New York, country bumpkin. You figure it out.”  
  
Silently, she watched him walk away, still too flabbergasted and awed to react. Distractedly, she glanced in her niece's direction, found that Cate, as always, was just fine. After the day she had just experienced, the young nanny felt as though her head was spinning, that the ground was moving too quickly beneath her feet for her to catch up, but, suddenly, she didn't care what she had to do – even if she had to take off her heels and actually run. She'd not only catch up; she'd get ahead, and, when she did, the world would be her oyster, and _her_ oyster would have one hell of a big, expensive pearl inside.   
  
There was no way she was returning to Paris any time soon. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

Her intentions had been pure.  
  
Okay, so maybe not pure... but, at least, Carly hadn't been meaning to eavesdrop, and that wasn't something she could always claim. Usually eavesdropping was the quickest and easiest way for her to learn of information others didn't want her to know. It had worked for years while she had been married to Sonny, and it had worked like a charm the day before when she had stumbled across Jason's meeting with the Zacchara heir on the docks. So, when she stepped off the elevator on the top floor of Harbor View Towers and just so happened to walk into an argument between Sonny and his latest wife, she sure as hell wasn't going to turn around and leave, giving them their privacy.  
  
She was there because she needed to talk to her ex. Years before, he had promised her he would take care of the one thorn in her side she simply couldn't seem to handle on her own, and, for a while, it had appeared as though he had, for once, kept his word. The muffin had fled town, never to be heard from again, and, for all Carly cared, the goody-goody was dead. Hell, even Audrey Hardy seemed to stop hoping for her granddaughter to return home, so she had taken that for a sign that Elizabeth Webber was out of her life and, more importantly, out of Jason's life. Permanently.  
  
Low and behold, though, her best friend wasn't even back in town a month, and he was already reinserting the ghost of her former rival back into his life. Whereas he hid from Carly, avoiding his previous haunts, he had voluntarily moved right back into the muffin's ramshackle studio. Why Jason would live there when he had his pick of luxurious homes, apartments, and, hell, even safehouses, she didn't know. In fact, the single mother would have gladly welcomed him into her own home, and she knew Jason was aware of her devotion and loyalty to him. Instead, though, he ignored her, shunned her, and returned to his memories of Elizabeth Webber.  
  
Oh, she knew he'd claim the place was strategically in a better position for him. While the enforcer might be back in town for the first time in more than five years, it was well known that he wasn't in Port Charles for personal reasons. His trip was solely for business, and the studio on the docks was centrally located and provided him with a bird's eye view of Sonny's empire. There, he could better protect himself and, more importantly, protect the man he had pledged his life to, more or less, so many years prior, and, though she appreciated his diligence and instincts... among other things, Carly still hated the fact that her best friend was living in the muffin's former home and not her current one.  
  
Apparently, though, she wasn't the only one having Jason issues.  
  
“I want to know why you're putting extra guards on me.”  
  
“And I want to go inside and have this conversation calmly and rationally like other married couples,” Sonny countered the tightly wired attorney. “Now, be a good wife and...”  
  
Interrupting him, Alexis spat, “this is not your home. I might rent it from you, but you do not have the right to barge in whenever you want to.”  
  
“We are married.”  
  
“Technicality.” From her position, arms crossed in front of her chest as she casually leaned against the wall by the elevator, Carly smirked at her replacement's response and dismissive wave in the mob boss' direction.  
  
Relenting somewhat – obviously someone had started to learn the powers of compromise, Sonny smiled widely, putting the effects of his dimples on full display when he finally answered his new wife's question about her increased security. “Things are just slightly tense right now, and I want to make sure that you and the baby are safe.”  
  
“Why?” The query was hard, cold.  
  
“Because I love you, and I love our child.”  
  
“No,” Alexis argued. “Why are things tense right now?”  
  
“It's business.”  
  
Of course, Carly rolled her eyes. When the going gets tough in his marriage, Sonny always rolled out 'the business' card. Despite the fact that they were divorced and she was witnessing a fight between her former spouse and his current one, the word still made her grind her teeth and seethe. She was curious, though, how the uptight lawyer would handle such a dismissal.  
  
“A business which _ I  _ keep you out of prison for, so that you can continue running it.”  
  
“Alexis,” Sonny warned, and the blonde could see the Cuban emotionally detaching from the conversation. If she had to guess, she would wager Sonny's gaze was no longer meeting his wife's.  
  
“Alright, fine,” the attorney relented, obviously switching tracks. “If you won't tell me why security has been increased, tell me this: did you double everyone's guards or just mine?”  
  
Before her ex could respond, Carly contemplated her own security detail. Unless the new guards were keeping themselves out of sight, then the answer to Alexis' question was no, and, considering the fact that the men were usually at least 200 pounds and wore suits and gun holsters, they weren't exactly adept at blending into their surroundings, no matter what Sonny may have thought or hoped. They stuck out like a pair of brown shoes with a black suit... a crime of fashion many of the bodyguards committed on a daily basis.  
  
Despite the fact that she had already answered the inquiry on her own, Sonny had yet to say a word, and, as the silence stretched out between the couple, Carly knew he wasn't going to. However, if Sonny thought that his silences were good for dodging those tough questions he didn't want to reply to, he knew less about women than he thought, because it was easy to tell whether his quiet, still behavior was either a negative or a positive admittance, depending upon what the original query was about, because Sonny only remained silent when the truth would be damaging to him, and a woman always knew when a man was guilty of something.  
  
Realizing this as well, Alexis murmured, “I see.”  
  
Exploding, the crime lord shot back, “no, you don't! You have no idea what's going on.”  
  
“Because you won't tell me.”  
  
Opposite of the attorney's controlled smoothness, Sonny was in a fit, postulating and tilting his chin up in defiance. “Because you  really don't want to know that you have extra guards because, if  _ he  _ goes after someone, it's going to be you, because  _ he  _ would never hurt Carly or Michael.”  
  
Gasping, Sonny's wife connected the trail of breadcrumbs and, evidently, added a few of her own morsels of information to the mix, too, to realize what was going on. Even Carly had to admit she was shocked by her ex-husband's warning of threat. “It's Jason you're afraid of.”  
  
“How did you...? I haven't... You shouldn't even know that he's back in town yet,” Sonny said. “Have you been listening in on my conversations?”  
  
“I'm not Carly,” Alexis snapped, making the blonde bristle slightly, but, still, she remained quiet and rooted in her advantageous position. “And, contrary to what you must think, I have no interest in knowing the ins and outs of your business, especially considering the fact that I have a moral duty to uphold the law. If I know of a crime that has been committed, as a member of the court, it is my responsibility to inform the police, even if said crime was perpetrated by my husband and the father of my child.”  
  
“Oh, get off it,” the Cuban fired back. “We both know that all the Cassadines are skilled at deception. You'd keep your mouth shut if it served your purposes, and you'd lie to me and eavesdrop onto my conversations if you felt such actions were necessary.” Before the lawyer could refute his charges, Sonny pressed on. “What I want to know is how you found out that Jason's back.”  
  
“Port Charles is a small town, especially the circles you're a part of.”  
  
“What's that supposed to mean,” Carly's former spouse grit out between his clenched jaw. “Are you saying that I'm beneath...?”  
  
“I'm saying that there aren't many people in this town who have as much power and wealth that you do, so, when someone comes to Port Charles who either rivals your position or supports it, word spreads, Sonny. I've known that Jason's back for days now, but I didn't say anything because I naively assumed that was a good thing. Obviously, there's more going on here than just some touchy negotiations or a simple territory dispute, and, frankly, I don't want to know, especially if you fear Jason might come after your wife and unborn child, because that means, whatever you did to him, must have been just as despicable.”  
  
“Then why the third degree, why all the questions? What the hell do you want from me, Alexis?”  
  
“I want some common courtesy,” the neurotic woman snapped, glaring daggers in the mob boss' direction. “I want you to tell me that your enforcer is back in town so that I don't have to be blindsided with the information from a colleague and scared out of my mind that something is going to happen to my child. I want you to either stop or to fix whatever it was you did to Jason to make him ready to come after you and yours so that I can go to sleep at night and not fear that I won't wake up the next morning. And I want you to stay away from me until otherwise noted.”  
  
Pivoting around to walk into her penthouse, the lawyer disappeared quickly, despite her pregnancy impeded gait, slamming the door in Sonny's face before he could approach the entrance. For several minutes, Carly watched, smirking, as her ex stood there in a silent, deadly rage. His fists were painfully clenched together, and she could see his body fairly trembling with barely suppressed fury. Eventually, as what always happened with Sonny, he lost his battle for control and lashed out, turning to sweep a muscled forearm across the top of the hallway table that sat adjacent to his wife's front door. With a loud crash, the large glass vase containing a fresh floral arrangement fell to the floor.  
  
Unnoticing of the water from the spilled flowers that was meandering its way across the marble floor, the mob boss just stood there, oblivious, distracted, at risk, and, for the first time since she arrived, Carly found herself wondering where the guards were, especially if Sonny had doubled security upon his latest wife and unborn child. But she wasn't going to ask, and she certainly wasn't going to complain, because their lack of presence provided her with the best opportunity she'd had in months to get under her former spouse's skin.  
  
Clapping and startling the fuming Cuban, she announced her presence before advancing upon her target, a taunting grin curling up the corners of her painted mouth. “Way to go, Sonny, bang-up job. After all, everyone knows that the way to a woman's heart is for a man to throw a temper tantrum.”  
  
Twisting around to face her, the crime lord asked, “what the hell do you want, Carly?”  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
“Unless there's something wrong with Michael, your guards, or someone threatened you, then we have nothing to talk about.”  
  
“Oh, I beg to differ,” she countered. “We need to have a little discussion about Jason.”  
  
“Everybody wants to talk about him,” Sonny snapped, glaring at her. “First Anthony, then Alexis, and now you, but Jason is my business, and I'll handle....”  
  
“Feeling jealous,” she interjected, stopping his rant and snickering. By the glower that flashed across her ex-husband's face, Carly knew she had struck a nerve. Changing tactics, the single mother warned, “he's not just your business anymore, Sonny. You promised me years ago that you'd take care of things.”  
  
“And I did,” he defended, his already upturned chin ratcheting up another notch.  
  
“No, you _ temporarily  _ took care of the situation, but it's not finished yet.”  
  
Advancing several steps towards her, he demanded to know, “what's that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means that Jason's staying at Elizabeth Webber's studio again, Sonny. It means that, if you can't do the job, somebody's going to have to do it for you.”  
  
He chuckled, the sound dirty and insulting. “And what? You're saying that _ you're  _ going to take care of Jason?” Allowing his gaze to roam up and down her body, he snidely remarked, “honey, you don't have anything that he wants anymore. I made sure of that.”  
  
“You know, I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss me. That's always been your downfall, Sonny. You realize that, right? You make these snap decisions without considering either the options or the outcomes, and someday those decisions are going to come back and bite you in the ass.”  
  
“Carly,” he warned, “if you're not careful, I'll take that as a threat.”  
  
“Well, then, consider yourself threatened.”  
  
Backing up, she pressed the call key for the elevator, keeping her gaze locked with Sonny's the entire time. Neither of them were prepared to back down, even when the lift arrived and she stepped onto it. It wasn't until the doors closed and she was on her way back down to the lobby that Carly finally blinked.  
  
While Sonny might have been right – maybe he had ruined any chance she had of making Jason fall in love with her again, he forgot one important thing: she still had Michael, and, no matter what happened between them, she was confident that her best friend would never turn her son away. He loved Michael too much to ever hurt the little boy he once considered his own, and she wasn't above using a child to get what she wanted, especially since having Jason in their lives again would be good for her son as well.  
  
It didn't surprise her, though, that her former spouse and Michael's adoptive father had seemingly forced the little boy out of his mind. His focus was solely reserved for Alexis and his _ biological _ child that the lawyer was carrying. Though the shun towards her own son hurt, the blonde quickly pushed the pain aside. After all, she wasn't destitute; she still had options. And, more importantly, Sonny was certainly not Jason. 

} ~ {

“What are you wearing?”  
  
Sighing, Elizabeth shuffled her phone to a more comfortable position, cradling it under her right shoulder as she lifted her legs and curled them under where she sat on a bench outside in the courtyard of New York-Presbyterian. Evidently, her boyfriend had already either forgotten or dismissed their screaming match in one of Manhattan's trendiest restaurants and her subsequent chilly brushoff a few days prior, but the nurse wasn't particularly surprised. Patrick never stayed mad for long. Whether his carefree manner was simply a defense mechanism or because he knew he had a better chance of getting in her pants if he was nice, she wasn't sure, and, truthfully, she didn't care. If it meant that she could revert back to her usual emotionally distant behavior, then she was all for his cheesy come-on... or she would have been if it wasn't dusk in New York City in springtime.  
  
Finally responding, she said, “I'm wearing scrubs.”  
  
“What about underneath them?” She could hear the intent in the neurosurgeon's words. “Could you just slip the scrubs off, and...”  
  
“And I'm in public, Patrick,” she told him, cutting off his proposition. “I'm sitting outside, waiting for my second shift to start.”  
  
“Of course, you're at work.”  
  
The derision in his voice was unmistakable, and it made Elizabeth pause momentarily, for the fact that a fellow workaholic was looking down upon her because of how many hours she racked up at the hospital every week was somewhat startling. Yes, she liked to be busy, yes she used her job as an escape, as a way to hide from both her past and her life, but wasn't Patrick the same way? It's why they worked together as a couple. Neither of them wanted an emotional attachment; they were together for the convenience and the physical comfort, nothing else... or so she had thought.  
  
Incapable of examining their relationship in that moment, both because of her upcoming shift and because, frankly, she didn't care enough to make the effort, Elizabeth simply changed the subject. “So, tell me about your day. How did everything go?”  
  
“You wouldn't believe this shrew I met.” And, just like that, by turning the conversation around and back onto him, the place where Patrick always wanted her attention and everyone else's, she was in the clear once more. “She was the biggest bitch I've ever met.”  
  
“Considering some of the women we work with, not to mention myself, that's quite the compliment coming from you.”  
  
“No,” Patrick refuted. “She wasn't a bust your chops, take no prisoners, I am woman - hear me roar type of bitch; she was a real ball breaker. Vindictive, snide, arrogant...”  
  
“And she didn't fall for any of your charm, right,” the nurse surmised, astonishing herself when she actually smiled. She couldn't help it, though. The very idea of someone giving back to Patrick as good as he dished it out amused her to no end, especially considering how bent out of shape he sounded concerning the woman.  
  
“Totally immune,” he admitted. “It was like the more I smiled and the more I flirted, the angrier she became. I mean, she became downright vicious there at the end.”  
  
“What about your actual meeting with Al... with Doctor Quartermaine?”  
  
Afraid that her boyfriend would notice her almost slip, Elizabeth was relieved when he, instead, simply plowed on with his whining about his confrontation. “Well, get this: supposedly, this woman is a close personal friend of the entire Quartermaine family.”  
  
Now, that intrigued her, because, if this woman knew the Quartermaines personally, chances were she, at least, knew of her as well. “Did you happen to catch her name?”  
  
Rather than asking her why she cared, he responded, “Scorpio. Her first name was weird – something to do with nature or animals, I don't know.” The fact that Robin – because, obviously, that's who Patrick was referring to, had the neurosurgeon so distracted that he couldn't even remember her first name was extremely telling. “She's some AIDS researcher. Now, there's a thankless specialty.” She refrained from explaining how Robin's first love had died of the disease and how the physician herself was HIV positive, for, in Elizabeth's opinion, sharing such information wasn't any of her business. After all, if Robin wanted Patrick to know, she would have told him herself. “Anyway, my point is that now I'm not too sure how I feel about working for a guy who keeps such company.”  
  
“You're not taking the job at General Hospital because you want to be Doctor Quartermaine's best friend, Patrick; you're going there to advance your career.”  
  
“I swear, though, if that woman ends up working there....” His threat fell away, unfinished. “She left, storming out in a huff, and I got the impression that she wouldn't be back anytime soon, but....”  
  
“But you would let one shrew, one bitch, one ball breaker, as you called her, chase you away from a position that could make your career,” Elizabeth challenged. “That doesn't sound like the Patrick Drake I know.”  
  
“You're right,” he sighed, already caving to the lure of his own ego. “Besides, even if the woman did end up working there, what are the chances that we'd even seen each other very often? We'd work in completely separate areas of the hospital.”  
  
The nurse held herself back from informing him just how small of a town Port Charles really was. Clearing her throat momentarily, she then tried to infuse strains of enthusiasm into her voice. “So, every thing's set then? You'll be starting in two weeks?”  
  
“Actually, Alan called New York-Preb this afternoon, pulled a few strings, and my last day is tomorrow. I'll be back in the city only long enough to pack up my things and give convincing you to go with me one last try.”  
  
“Patrick,” she warned only to be interrupted.  
  
“Look, I know Port Charles isn't Manhattan, and I know you have a life and a career there, but you don't have a wide circle of friends, and General Hospital needs dedicated nurses just as much as New York Presbyterian does. And, sure, we don't have the type of relationship a woman moves across the state for, but there is something here, and....”  
  
“And my shift's about to start, so I have to go.” Standing and refusing to give him a chance to pressure her further, Elizabeth simply said, “I'll talk to when you get back.”  
  
It didn't matter what Patrick used to try and convince her to move with him, she wasn't going back to Port Charles. Even if she did feel more for the doctor than just warmth and companionship, she knew him well enough to recognize the tone of voice he used when he spoke about Robin Scorpio. While he currently might loath the other physician, Patrick didn't react so strongly to anybody unless they pushed his buttons, and a woman didn't push Patrick Drake's buttons unless she intrigued him, challenged him, and was attractive. Whether he knew it or not, the neurosurgeon was on a collision course with the AIDS researcher, and the two of them were going to collide – somehow, someway, sometime... whether she was in Port Charles with him or not, and the fact that she didn't care was proof enough to Elizabeth that there was absolutely nothing back in her hometown that she wanted or needed, including her current but soon to be ex-boyfriend. 

} ~ {

They were in his kitchen – why when Nadine had to bring all her cooking supplies and Laura's toys with her, he didn't know, and his sister was cooking them dinner, some recipe of their aunt's that was more comfort food than actually nutritious. With the groceries piled up by the stove for easy access and an open bag of barbecue potato chips open and positioned between the two siblings, Spinelli watched on as Nadine cooked, munching along happily while occasionally taking a nip of his orange soda. His sister had one, too.  
  
It had been several days since they had last seen each other, and, though the siblings didn't like to go so long without getting together even if only for five minutes, the young college student knew such absences would occasionally occur, because their schedules were simply too busy for them to always be in sync. However, that also meant that he had several important things to share with his sister, one in particular not being of the savory variety, and he wasn't quite sure how to broach the topic.  
  
“Do you know Carly Corinthos?” Apparently, subtlety wasn't his strong point, but, then again, had it ever been?  
  
“You mean Carly Quartermaine Corinthos? Don't forget the Quartermaine part,” his sister reminded him tartly. Evidently, she did know the other woman. “Yes, I've had a few run ins at the hospital with that menace to society. Just because her mother works there, just because she was once married to the chief's drunk lout of a sun, and just because she was partly responsible for ruining Tony Jones' career, she thinks she has a right to stop by whenever she wants, demanding things, throwing her two last names around.”  
  
“You are in a particularly... pointed mood this evening,” Spinelli observed.  
  
“Sorry, I just... I don't normally like to judge people so quickly, but there's something about that woman that I just can't stand.” As if realizing for the first time that her brother had intentionally brought up the divorcee's name, Nadine blanched. “Oh no,” she whispered, reaching up to cover her mouth with her left hand, a hand the computer genius was pleased to see lacked its former wedding rings. “You don't... like her or anything, do you?”  
  
He should have been insulted, but he couldn't blame his only sibling for fearing such a horrible thing. After all, he did have a type – blonde, older, and out of his league, and he did have a track record. It would have been just like him to go out and start crushing upon possibly the trashiest woman in Port Charles. However, that still didn't prevent him from shuddering at the very thought. “The Jackal is horrified by such a thought.”  
  
“Good,” his sister sighed, reaching for her soda as she crumbled onto the stool beside his own. After taking a deep, fortifying pull from the frosty bottle, she said, “I didn't think you'd ever stoop that low, liking Carly Quartermaine Corinthos, but you had me scared there for a moment.” Twisting in her seat to observe him closely, she narrowed her gaze and asked, “how do _you_ know here, though?”  
  
“What if I were to say that I happened upon a scene that made me wonder if the single mother wouldn't be single for long, if the doubly monikered Caroline would be adding a third prestigious name to her pedigree?”  
  
“She's sleeping with Nikolas.”  
  
Only Nadine would have been able to decipher his ambiguous response and come up with the correct conclusion. “I'm afraid so.”  
  
“Don't be,” she was quick to reassure him, standing once more and returning to her cooking tasks. “I'm not hurt, and maybe it'll be something Alexis can use in my favor during our next divorce settlement meeting. Although I do feel bad for....”  
  
“Wait a second,” Spinelli interjected. “You know of your legal eagle's identity? I was going to tell you about Miss Davis this evening.”  
  
“Yeah, we ran into each other at the hospital a few days ago.”  
  
“So, then, not all your chance encounters at work are unsavory,” he pointed out helpfully.  
  
Without either disagreeing or agreeing with him, Nadine continued, “and she told me she'd take the case, but, Damien, she's seven months pregnant.”  
  
“I do not see why that should make her any less suitable as your lawyer,” the college student disputed. “If anything, her unbalanced hormones might work in your favor, those maternal instincts coming out to roost and make themselves be heard. Besides, as a mother yourself, I would think you would take offense to the idea that a woman could not do her job as well while expecting.”  
  
“It's not that I doubt Alexis' ability,” his only sibling argued. “It's just that I don't want to be the one to cause her any unneeded stress, and you can't tell me taking on her nephew in court wouldn't be distressing for any woman, especially one who is in her third trimester.”  
  
“I'm sure she's used to stress,” Spinelli offered by way of comfort and reassurance. “After all, she is carrying the don of Port Charles' progeny.”  
  
Startling him, his sister groaned, leaning forward to bang her forehead against his kitchen cabinets. “Ugh, I can't believe I forgot about that! This just keeps getting more and more ridiculous.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“My attorney is pregnant with my soon-to-be ex-husband's mistress' ex-husband's child.”  
  
Doing the mental math in his head, the computer genius sorted out all the relationships Nadine had just rattled off so quickly. Blinking rapidly, he admitted, “that is a... a rather tangled web.”  
  
“Especially when you add on the fact that Nikolas is doing business with a man who is rivals with Carly's former spouse.”  
  
Leaning forward, Spinelli whispered, “you know about the less than upstanding dealings between the Anthony Zacchara, his Zany-ness Himself, and the Pompous Prince concerning the Cuban Corleone?”  
  
“Well, considering the fact that I found Anthony in Nikolas' study yesterday when I went to drop Laura off for a visit? Yeah, I figured out what's going on... even if I didn't particularly want to.” Sending mental daggers at her brother, the blonde nurse continued, “but what I really want to know is why _you_ , who just so happens to work for the Zacchara family's own personal lawyer, didn't inform me of my husband's latest associate.”  
  
“Attorney-client privilege,” he tried to excuse his actions or, more accurately, lack thereof.  
  
“That doesn't work when you're just a secretary.”  
  
“I like to think of myself as the Intrepid Miss Miller's brilliant personal assistant, not just a....”  
  
“Damien,” she interrupted, her voice rising.  
  
Giving in, his shoulders slumped. “We should probably make sure that we meet up at least once a day from now on,” he told her, “just to make sure something like this doesn't happen again.”  
  
“That'd probably be a good idea,” Nadine agreed.  
  
Spinelli didn't start breathing again until she turned her back on him and started cooking once more. 

} ~ {

As the man stepped off the plane, he felt an involuntary shudder pass through him. Despite the fact that it was just a place, that there was nothing to fear, he knew that there was a part of him that wasn't ready to come back home yet. His past there was too real, too undeniable, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to finally face it and put it to rest.  
  
But, on the other hand, he wasn't the type of man to run away from his fears, at least... not for forever. In some societies, he was seen as a conquerer, so, surely, he could stand up to himself and the ghosts of the past, stay strong, and survive. If not for himself, then he, at least, could do it for the people he cared about, the people he had returned for to the one place in the world he had promised himself years before he'd never return to.  
  
Promises, however, were tricky things, especially when they were made to people who died or made before people were born. Life, both old and new, changed everything... including him, and, whether he failed or not, he knew it was time to adapt. What remained to be seen, though, was whether or not his latest personal evolution would be a success. Would he flourish and come out on top once more like he had always done in the past, or would this be the move, the decision, the challenge that broke him for good?


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Neither of them could sleep._  
  
It was late, the wind was howling off the lake and swirling snow around her drafty windows like pieces of dandelion fluff, and the chillness of her studio made the prospect of snuggling down under an entire avalanche of blankets and going to sleep more than tempting, but, still, they both remained awake. In fact, she wasn't even tempted to close her eyes.  
  
After the long day she had experienced, she should have been exhausted. Normally working at Kelly's alone on a holiday was enough to make Elizabeth drag her feet all the way home and then fall into a slumber so deep she was dead to the world for at least eight hours. And that was before she calculated in a bomb scare. Her body should have been so grateful to be alive that it automatically took care of itself. Instead, she was wired. However, that energy did not spring from fear... as someone with a little more common sense would react... but rather from attraction.  
  
Desire.  
  
Need.  
  
Yes, she was a single woman, and, yes, she had survived a traumatic rape experience when she was fifteen, but that did not mean that she didn't recognize Jason Morgan for exactly what he was. And that was hot. Before that night, though, he had always just been her friend – that person she could go to and talk with when no one else in her life could be bothered to truly listen, that person who took her for motorcycle rides to nowhere and helped her to forget everything else in the world but the speed and the rush of his bike, that person who made her feel safe. However, that night, alone with him just inches away from her in her studio, Elizabeth felt anything but safe; she felt alive – really and truly alive – for the first time in a long time. Perhaps years.  
  
Realistically, she wondered if her reaction to Jason was nothing more than the pressure of adrenaline surging through her body. After all, she had survived what could possibly be considered a mob hit. Odd enough as that sounded to a girl who was primarily raised in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado, in Port Charles, it was like she was being initiated into some bizarre, surreal club. However, the fact that she could look at her brush with near death with such a blasé attitude told Elizabeth that her lack of rest did not spring from a newfound, sudden appreciation of life. Perhaps, though, it was another cliché that described her recently discovered attraction to the man laying beside her.  
  
Admittedly, she had gotten used to having Jason around. He was there when she left for work in the morning, he was there if she wanted to stop back in at her studio during her lunch break, and he was there when she got home at night. They could talk for hours whenever they wanted, or they could sit in silence while he read and she painted. Their arrangement in her studio while he was recuperating from a gunshot wound had been comfortable. Really, they had almost been a couple... just without some of the best perks of being in a relationship. Maybe it finally took Jason's absence from her every day life to show her what she really felt for him. He had to leave before she could realize just why exactly she wanted him to stay so badly.  
  
While she lay there on her couch which also served as her bed, tossing and turning in a struggle to find sleep, Elizabeth wondered if Jason would have stayed with her if she had figured out her feelings for him before he decided to leave. But to think that meant that she had to believe that he was attracted to and wanted to be with her as well, and, while Jason's friendship had done quite a bit in the way of boosting her self-confidence, she wasn't that sure of herself. After all, she was so much younger than he was and certainly not his type. In the past, he had dated Robin – a strong, mature medical student. Robin had direction and drive, ambition, and she cared more for others than she did for herself. And then there was Carly, too... whatever she had been to Jason.  
  
Then again, Elizabeth smirked and giggled silently to herself – maybe Jason didn't have a type, because surely Robin and Carly had absolutely nothing in common... besides being worldly whereas she was just a scared little mouse of a woman, barely capable of standing up for herself let alone confident enough to love a man like Jason Morgan the way he deserved and obviously wanted to be loved.  
  
That thought was sobering, and her noiseless humor melted away just as quickly as it had come upon her, but, still, common sense didn't banish her thoughts entirely. No matter what, Jason was her friend. That had to mean something. Even if he wasn't interested in her physically, he at least enjoyed her company, and, to Elizabeth, that was more important than anything else. Besides, that still didn't explain why Jason was awake beside her. While she knew exactly why she couldn't sleep, why couldn't he?  
  
He might have been staying awake to guard her, afraid that, since he and Roy had managed to diffuse the bomb in time, someone would return that evening to finish the job, but, given the fact that Jason was such a light sleeper anyway, that didn't make much sense to Elizabeth. As soon as anyone would step foot outside of her studio door, he would wake up, instantly alert for signs of impending danger. Plus, despite the fact that he had declared himself healthy and recovered enough to leave and move out again on his own, she knew that his wound wasn't one hundred percent healed, and any child of two doctors also knew that, when a body was healing itself, it needed more sleep. Whether he would protest the fact or not, she knew that Jason Morgan was tired.  
  
Curious, she slowly rotated her head around towards the floor beside her, intent upon catching a glimpse of her protector's face without him becoming wise to her surreptitious behavior. Though all the lights were off inside of the studio, between the light from the moon and the lamps that dotted the docks and cast off a web of illumination, the room was bright enough for her to see clearly. However, she should have known better than to think she would ever be able to catch Jason Morgan unaware. As soon as her gaze had traveled far enough to land upon him, his piercing eyes caught and held her own. They stared at one another for several quiet, intense moments before Jason broke the silence. That alone told her quite a bit about his frame of mind.  
  
“I've slept on that couch and know just how comfortable it is. Do you want to switch? I'll take the couch, and you can sleep on the floor.”  
  
Half-heartedly, Elizabeth lifted the pillow from behind her head and tossed it in his direction. “Ha-ha. My couch isn't that bad.”  
  
“Well, maybe not for someone who isn't normal sized.”  
  
He was teasing her as well. Jason really was in a rare mood. If only she knew what that mood was, though. Rolling her eyes and playing along, Elizabeth pretended to be stung by his words. “Maybe I'm the normal one, and you're the giant.”  
  
“Centuries ago, you would have been right,” he admitted, sliding over to lay upon his side so that it was easier to look up and talk to her. “But, as human evolution advances, we continue to get bigger.”  
  
“I thought you read travel guides.”  
  
“I like history books as well.”  
  
Smiling, Elizabeth took note. “Yeah, well, it's not my couch's fault that I can't sleep.”  
  
“No, I didn't think it was.” Suddenly, the humor was gone from Jason's voice. “It's mine.”  
  
She blushed furiously. Surely, he didn't know how she felt... right? After all, she had just figured out her own feelings that evening. Had Jason known all along and that was the real reason why he had left – because knowing that she had a crush on him was too awkward for him to remain living with her? What had she done to give herself away? Did she look at him too long, gaze up at him with open, naked yearning, or had she said something in her sleep? Sadly, she was known to ramble even when locked into her REM cycle.  
  
“I know that it was scary... earlier, but I promise you, Elizabeth, that I won't let anything happen to you.”  
  
Sometime during her brain's frenzied contemplation, without her realizing it, Jason had moved so that he was kneeling in front of her. While she was still stretched out upon the sofa, he was sitting at her side, looking down upon her. The arrangement made her feel nervous, suddenly exposed despite the fact that she was covered from toe to chin with a suffocating pile of blankets, so she pushed them aside and sat up as well. Unconsciously, she moved so that she was perched directly in front of Jason, her own legs tucked beneath her.  
  
“I know that,” she said, surprised to hear how shaky her voice was. Shivering at his nearness, she whispered it again. “I know.”  
  
“Elizabeth...?” Hesitantly, Jason leaned forward, shocking her when his arms came up to envelope her in a hug. For several seconds, she remained tense, uncertain, but then the lure of him being so close was too much for her to ignore, and she collapsed against him, burying her face in that perfect spot all men seemed to possess - between their neck and shoulder and, as unobtrusively as possible, inhaled the enforcer's scent. He smelled like soap and laundry detergent with faint hints of gasoline and stale beer.  
  
He smelled safe.  
  
The comfortable embrace only lasted for a moment, though, before Jason was gently pushing her away. Once they were nearly separated, he removed his arms from around her, his hands automatically going to cup and hold her face against his palms. He repeated her name. “Elizabeth...?” That one word possessed the same questioning tone, but, rather than asking if she was alright, it was asking her if she knew what she was doing.  
  
She didn't, but it felt as though there was no other way that she could possibly act. Or feel.  
  
They stared at each other for such a long time – neither of them blinking – that, when Jason finally moved, Elizabeth didn't register his actions right away. But then his lips brushed hers – once, twice, three times, and then she gasped in response, and all thought was lost.  
  
Gracefully falling backwards to recline upon his back, Jason pulled her with him, and she immediately settled, her legs going to straddle his waist, her chest melded against his own, her tiny, paint stained hands disappearing beneath his shoulders where her nails took purchase to hold him tight. Their mouths broke apart only long enough to remove clothing. Her pajama shirt was stripped off over her head, her pants wiggled out of, and his jeans pushed away into oblivion.  
  
It wasn't slow and tender, but Elizabeth didn't want that. It felt as though Jason would disappear if she didn't hold onto him tight enough, if she ever let him go. Though the fire she felt for him had only been burning for such a short time, it was all consuming. He was the only person in her life that didn't treat her like a delicate, breakable flower. That shouldn't change just because their relationship had.  
  
When he entered her, it hurt. She had known that it would. After all, though she wasn't a virgin, her only sexual experience had been years prior and non-consensual. She was small and petite, and Jason was much bigger than she was. And she was tight. But the pain was eventually eclipsed but something far more physically potent. Pleasure – pure, unadulterated, sinfully decadent pleasure, and Elizabeth gloried in its power over her.  
  
Sex – at least sex with Jason Morgan – was even more freeing than a ride to nowhere.  
  
Jackhammering awake and sitting up all in the same motion, it took Elizabeth several minutes to collect herself, to once more become aware of her surroundings. She wasn't that sweet, naive teenage girl anymore, and she certainly wasn't lying on the floor of her studio with Jason Morgan buried inside of her. She was alone in the hospital on-call room, cold with the clammy sweat of remembrance, and as dead inside as one could possibly be and still manage to survive.  
  
Curling up onto her side into a small, tight ball, Elizabeth Webber cried herself back to sleep. 

} ~ {

She was tired, and she was beyond irritated, and she was...  
  
… walking into the brunt of destruction from a powerful tornado.  
  
Totally oblivious of her entrance, Maxie continued to toss and throw clothing with absolute total disregard for their hotel suite's appearance. Never hearing Robin behind her and certainly not stopping, her cousin obliterated every ounce of order and cleanliness from their temporary home. It was late. After leaving the hospital, she had wandered around Port Charles, walking in an ineffective attempt to calm down, so she knew that her daughter had long since been put to bed. That was the only reason why Robin didn't lose her temper. Instead, she took several long, deep breaths in an effort to relieve stress before addressing her wild, whirling dervish of a nanny.  
  
Still, her words came out harsh and clipped. “What the hell do you think you're doing, Maxie?” There was no escaping the fact that she was pissed. Not even someone as knowingly self-absorbed as her cousin could hide from the blunt edge of her anger.  
  
“Working.”  
  
The younger woman's response was so matter of fact that Robin was taken aback momentarily, but it didn't take her long to find her annoyance once again. “Well, that's funny, because I could have sworn that I paid you to care for my daughter and not to act like a child yourself.”  
  
“Whoa! Someone had a bad day.”  
  
“We're not talking about me right now, Maxie,” Robin snapped.  
  
In response to her piqued tone, Robin watched as her cousin shifted so that her hands were petulantly poised upon her slender hips. The pose read confrontation. Finally, Maxie asked, “so, what's his name?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Well, it's obvious that someone put you in a mood, and I highly doubt Alan Quartermaine can get your blood pumping like this... no matter what drugs he jacked you up on, especially since, if either of us were going to go after an older man, it'd be me. Hello, sugar-daddy! So, that leads me to the conclusion that you met someone, and, judging by your increased respirations and the blush stealing its way across your face as we speak, I'd say that he was super hot, super sexist, and quite the player. One day back in Podunk Port Chuck, and you've already met your match. Wow.”  
  
At that point, Maxie started to giggle, and Robin exploded. “You have no idea what you're talking about, so just shut up, clean up, and start packing. We're leaving in the morning.”  
  
Instantly sober, her cousin said, “twenty-four hours ago, I would have kissed you – maybe even with tongue if you really wanted me to – if you would have said those words to me.”  
  
Shoving aside a pile of clothing from an easy chair, Robin sat down abruptly with a decided oomph. “What's changed? Does it have something to do with why every single outfit and shoe you own is strewn across our sitting room?”  
  
Happily, Maxie folded her petite limbs, sat down on the floor before the doctor, and sighed. “I met someone, too, but he didn't get my engines running on all cylinders. He did, however, give my brain and ambition a jump start.”  
  
“I really don't think they ever stalled.”  
  
Ignoring Robin's grumpy remark, the younger woman continued. “I was in the park today with Cate when this random stranger totally struck up a conversation with me out of the blue. We made small talk, I thought that he'd maybe ask me out or something. He was kind of cute... if you go for dark, brooding, and dangerous, but then he suggested a business partnership.” Proudly, Maxie announced, “you are currently gazing upon the future best up-and-coming fashion designer. All I have to do is put together a proposal, impress John Zacchara enough to make him want to write me a check, and then I'll officially be on my way. I just can't decide on my label name. I'm not sure if I want to go by Maxie Jones, or just Maxie, or maybe just Jones. Androgynous names for women are so in vogue right now, and I'm afraid that Maxie will just make people think of their periods, and what woman wants to be reminded of...”  
  
Interrupting what was sure to be a five minute soliloquy about Maxie's favorite subject – herself, Robin questioned, “did you say John Zacchara?”  
  
“Yes. Why?” Becoming panicked, her cousin sat up on her knees and asked hurriedly, “he wasn't the man who got you all hot and bothered, was he, because, if so, first of all, damn, and, secondly, you go, cougar! He's like totally younger than you are, Robin.”  
  
“Hey, I'm not that old,” she protested hotly. Why her age – something that she should be proud of given her HIV status – was suddenly such a testy subject for her, she didn't know.  
  
“Whatever,” Maxie dismissed with a causal flip of her manicured hand. “I'm still not giving him up. Flirt with him, sleep with him, marry him, he's still going to bankroll a boutique for me.”  
  
Closing her eyes, Robin took several moments to both realign her thoughts and to center herself. Finally, when she felt composed once more, she met her cousin's aquamarine gaze with her own much richer one and said, “no, I did not spend time with John Zacchara today, not that I'm admitting I spent time with any man nor that I am all 'hot and bothered' as you put it. The reason his name gave me pause is because I recognized it. Jax has told me about his family. John's sister works for him – legitimately, but the rest of the family.... Well, to be blunt, Maxie, they're in the mob. Anthony Zacchara, John's father, is one of Sonny's biggest rivals.”  
  
“So what,” the younger woman replied flippantly. “What does that have to do with me opening a clothing store?”  
  
“You'd be using dirty money!”  
  
“Yeah... along with just about every other business in this town. Think about it, Robin,” her cousin persisted. “The hospital runs on Sonny's money, Kelly's has been linked to organized crime for years, and practically every single job down on the docks is supplied by revenue generated from organized crime. Mac and everybody else around here might lament the crime rate, but take it away, and Port Charles would be a ghost town. I'd be an idiot to turn down John Zacchara's offer just because his dad is less than ethical when it comes to his business dealings.”  
  
“Or legal!”  
  
“Hello,” Maxie drawled out her protest, rolling her eyes. “We're talking about the fashion industry here – sweat shops, child labor law violations, and anorexic coke whores abound. What's a little dirty money in the midst of that hot mess?”  
  
“You're hopeless,” Robin accused, leaning back with an exhausted huff. “You really don't care that John Zacchara's family kills people for a living.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well, then, I guess it's a really good thing that we're going back to Paris tomorrow and that you won't have an opportunity to get yourself into trouble. Again.”  
  
“ _You_ might be running out of town tomorrow with _your_ tail tucked between _your_ legs, but I'm sure as hell not,” Maxie argued. “I'm staying right here, I'm taking full advantage of this opportunity if it pans out, and I'm not going to think twice. While you might be willing to live your life based upon decisions you made in fear, I'm not.”  
  
“I'm not leaving because I'm scared,” Robin defended herself, standing to pace agitatedly back and forth across their hotel sitting room. “I'm leaving because it's the right thing to do for me, and for Cate, and for you; because it was stupid to come here in the first place, and there's no way that I'm going to work at General Hospital for Alan Quartermaine if he really thinks that hiring such a man is a good idea!”  
  
“Ha! So it was a hottie who got your granny-panties in a bunch!”  
  
“Maxie, I do not wear granny-panties!”  
  
Standing up as well, the younger woman moved across the room until she could reach out and grasp Robin by the shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. “Listen to me,” her cousin instructed. “Go to bed, get some sleep, and things will look better in the morning, I promise. Right now, sure, that other doctor seems like a giant ass, and he probably is one, but you're not about to let someone like him – someone who's immature, and chauvinistic, and definitely not as smart as you - chase you away from something that you really want, are you? No. Tomorrow, you're going to wake up, put on your most killer suit, and go back to the hospital and demand that Alan give you the job of your dreams, and, then, when you get back, we're going to celebrate. While I might hate this town more than I hate acid washed jeans and clogs, I think we both need to be here right now. You were right, Robin. We were both in a rut, and we needed a change.” Smiling in her always charming manner, Maxie added, “and enjoy your victory, because I'm never going to admit that I was wrong ever again.  
  
More than anything else she had said that evening, Robin believed Maxie's final statement. When a reluctant half smile upon her face, she went off to bed... just as she was told.

Her last thought before she fell asleep: that selfish, soulless, spineless weasel of a Doctor Drake had no idea what he was about to face.

} ~ {

Taking a deep breath, Sonny braced himself. He was about to enter his wife's penthouse – no matter what Alexis said in protest, she was his wife, and that's how he thought of her – and apologize, no small feet in and of itself when considering the personality of his pregnant spouse. Add to that the fact that Alexis _was_ a Cassadine, illegitimate or not, and he knew better than to simply walk into her apartment unprepared. He had to face any conversation with the lawyer as though it were a court battle. It was important to have all his wits about him and a placating smile on hand. While his dimples didn't work on her quite like how they did on every other woman he had ever slept with in the past, they weren't ineffective either. And smooth charm and honeyed words were going to have to do the trick, too, because he sure as hell wasn't going to admit that he was wrong. It was one thing to apologize, but it was an entirely different and far less appealing concept to accept blame.  
  
Confident and believing himself ready to face anything that Alexis might be prepared to dish out, Sonny pushed his wife's penthouse door open without regard to her privacy. After all, they were expecting a child together. Knocking seemed ridiculous. But, when he saw the future mother of his child locked in the embrace of another man – Jax, of all people, a man he hated more than anyone else in the world due to the candy-boy's obsession with Brenda, he saw red. Backing away from the entrance, he shut the door just as silently as he had opened it, the two of them never made aware of his presence. Before the door could latch, though, he heard his wife whisper, “thank you for coming so quickly, Jax. You have no idea how much I needed you.”  
  
Stomping back to his own penthouse, Sonny fumed. He'd be damned if he'd apologize now!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

“Jason, dear! How wonderful to see you.”  
  
Lila smiled as she watched her grandson approach. From a distance, he looked like the man she had known for years – poised, self-possessed, tranquil, but, underneath the mask he wore for the outside world and sometimes she wondered if not for himself as well, she could see the turbulence of emotion swimming through his crisp, blue eyes, eyes so much like her own. On one hand, his obvious disturbance worried her, but, on the other, the Quartermaine matriarch relished the depth of feeling she was witnessing within her grandson.  
  
For so long, he had simply seemed... empty. Though it had been years since she had physically seen him, Jason had never failed to get word to her one way or another while he was traveling to reassure her that he was still alive. Whether he was healthy or not had been another story, but Lila mused, sitting in her rose garden, that beggars could not be choosers. However, even over the distance of a telephone call or through the tone of his letters, she had been able to decipher how alone her grandson was, how dead inside, and it had frightened her. While pain and fear were not the emotions she wanted him to experience in life, at that point, she'd take what she could get.  
  
Once he had taken a seat next to her (Reginald purposely positioned an extra chair beside her wherever she chose to spend her mornings just in case someone stopped by to visit), Jason immediately went straight to the point. “The others...?”  
  
She smiled indulgently. “You picked a good day to come and visit me, dear. Edward's been in the city for nearly a week, and his meetings aren't scheduled to conclude until tomorrow, and both Alan and Monica are at the hospital. Even Cook has gone to the market.”  
  
“Good. I'm glad. Thanks.” Nervously, she watched as Jason ran his palms up and down the coarse fabric of his faded blue jeans. “And you, grandmother? How... are you well?”  
  
“I'm as well as any old woman can expect or even hope to be. I'm more concerned about you right now. Is there something wrong?”  
  
“No,” he was quick to assure her. Too quick. She waited for him to say more, and, when he didn't, Lila allowed her gaze to become pointed, demanding. She rarely attempted to push Jason, realizing that he was the type of man who would get around to talking when he was ready to and no sooner, but she sensed that whatever was on his mind was a topic that was difficult for him to broach... even with her. “It's nothing, really.”  
  
“If that were the case, you wouldn't be here.” When he went to protest, she held up a stiff, arthritic hand. “Do not try to fool your grandmother, Jason. While I know that you love me, you're not one to make social calls. I learned that about you many years ago and have come to accept it.” If she was going to be blunt, she figured she might as well not hold anything back. “No, you're here today because something is bothering you, something obviously personal and important to you, something that you believe I might be able to help you with. So ask. I'll tell you whatever I can.”  
  
“Tell me about Elizabeth.”  
  
Ah, she should have known.  
  
Smiling serenely, Lila closed her eyes. Instantly, the face of the beautiful brunette in question appeared before her dark lids. For several moments, while she gathered her thoughts, they sat in silence, and she could fairly fear the intensity and tension sizzling off her grandson. “She writes to me, you know,” Lila posed rhetorically. “No matter how long her letters are, though, she doesn't really say much... at least, not about herself. After you left....”  
  
“Yes,” Jason interrupted her. Opening her eyes, she found him leaning forward anxiously on the edge of his chair. “Tell me more about that time, about after I left. What was she like then? How did she seem to you? What happened to her to make her leave town as well?”  
  
Instinctively, Lila reached out and grasped one of his hands in her own. “I'm afraid I can't answer all of your questions, Jason.”  
  
“That's okay. I just... what do you know?”  
  
“Well, after you left, her grandmother seriously started to pressure her into moving back home, but Elizabeth resisted. Not only did the rift between them seem to get worse, but Elizabeth also distanced herself from almost everyone else in her life, too. I won't lie to you, Jason. Most people blamed you, but she came to see me a few times that winter, and I have to say that I disagree with them. It was like she... grew up. Almost overnight, she went from being a scared, timid girl to this confident woman. We didn't talk much when she came to visit, and, when we did, it was mainly about her artwork or I would tell her stories about my life, but she didn't seem depressed or angry; she seemed... at peace, hopeful.  
  
“I know that she and Mr. Corinthos grew closer during that time. I think it was because he was her last link to you. Of course, I never saw anything myself, but I had heard that they spent many hours down on the docks together just watching the water and talking. I do believe he became her confidant.”  
  
“What about Emily,” Jason asked, startling Lila out of her recollections. “You said that she pushed her friends away. Were they not as close after I left?”  
  
“Actually, no. I do believe they were as thick as ever.” Laughing wistfully, she explained further, “those two girls just about gave Nikolas a fit. Whatever it was that changed Elizabeth, that made her eventually leave town, Emily knew what it was. Other than Mr. Corinthos, Emily, I think, was the only other person who did know. Elizabeth, apparently, made her promise not to tell anyone, and that extended to your sister's husband. Nikolas didn't like that too much.”  
  
Dourly, her grandson remarked, “I bet not.”  
  
“Anyway, everything seemed fine with Elizabeth. A week before she left, I remember she came to see me, and she just seemed so happy. School was going well. She said that never before had she been so inspired to paint. She then went on to ask me about you. She wanted to hear stories both about Jason Quartermaine as a child and about your life as Jason Morgan before she met you. When she suddenly disappeared a few days later, I was stunned.” Pausing momentarily, Lila rethought her previous statement. “Actually, what I really believed was that she had gone somewhere to see you. But then she never came back, and you never said a word about her when you called or wrote, and, by the time I received my first letter from her more than a year later, it was obvious to me that, whatever peace and happiness Elizabeth had temporarily found, she had lost it.”  
  
After several quiet moments – it was evident that Jason was deep in thought, Lila tentatively asked, “have you spoken to Mr. Corinthos about this? I'm sure he'd be able to tell you more than I could.”  
  
“Sonny's... changed.” Struggling, her grandson tried to explain himself. “He's not the same man he was five years ago, Grandmother. It's like I don't even know him anymore.”  
  
“Yes, I have noticed that as well,” she admitted somewhat reluctantly. Whatever Jason's currently feelings towards Sonny were, at one point, the two men had been closer than brothers. She did not want to offend any loyalties Jason might still possess towards his former mentor. “I was frankly surprised when he left Carly and it was revealed that Alexis Davis was pregnant with his child. Whatever their faults, Sonny and Carly seemed good together. And then, of course, there's little Michael to consider as well. Have you seen him yet, Jason?”  
  
“No. I'm not really sure if that's a good idea, Grandmother. I love Michael, and I always will, but I'm not his father, and, to become a part of his life again, especially now with everything that has happened between his parents, I just don't think that would be good for him.”  
  
“Well, I'm sure you'll do what's right.” Squeezing the hand of his that she still held, Lila smiled confidently, comfortingly in her grandson's direction. “As for Elizabeth, though....”  
  
“I can't talk to Sonny, and, whatever Emily knew, she took that knowledge with her to her grave.” Solemnly, they both sat completely still for a few seconds, remembering their lost loved one. Eventually, Jason cleared his throat and asked, “do you know where she is? Do you know where I could find Elizabeth?”  
  
As her grandson stood up beside her, Lila met his gaze without blinking. Though she wouldn't say a word and refused to express her relief towards his decision to question her about Elizabeth's whereabouts, she was sincerely thrilled. Not only was it obvious that Jason needed answers, it was also apparent that he needed something more or, perhaps more accurately, someone more in his life. “I do believe she's in New York City, dear.”  
  
With a fleeting grin, Jason slipped away into the depths of her garden. 

} ~ {

They had decided to meet on neutral territory – meaning neither were they at Wyndemere nor her apartment, Nikolas' lawyer's office nor Alexis' penthouse. Rather, the four of them had elected to congregate at the P.C. Grill. Although Nadine would have preferred a more private venue for yet another divorce arbitration meeting with her soon-to-be ex, the hotel restaurant was better than the alternative.  
  
She was the first one there – early, as was her habit, and she fidgeted nervously with the glass of ice water sweating before her. The Grill's central air was cooling, but, still, a puddle of condensation had pooled upon the thick, heavy, dark grain of the polished mahogany table, and, restively, she drew the tip of her right index finger through the moisture. The shapes and designs she made were random but distracting.  
  
“And here I thought I was going to be late,” Alexis announced unceremoniously as she sat down in the chair to the left of Nadine. Sighing in pregnant exhaustion, the expectant mother asked, “we did say to meet at ten, didn't we?” Without waiting for a response, she continued. “Well, it's five after now, so, obviously, Nikolas still isn't taking this – or you – seriously. We'll soon fix that.”  
  
The last thing she wanted to do was think about Nikolas or their mess of a marriage. No matter what Alexis' expectations were concerning her divorce, Nadine knew the procedure was going to be long, drawn out, and painful. Her attorney's optimism was appreciated but not a very good diversion. Instead, while they actually had an opportunity to do so, the young mother decided that she'd focus on something more positive, more uplifting.  
  
“You look wonderful today, Alexis. Lighter.”  
  
The older woman beamed profusely in her direction. “Really? You think I've lost weight?”  
  
While she had never actually been pregnant herself, Nadine knew enough about expectant mothers and women – after all, she was one of the latter herself – not to contradict the lawyer's assumption regarding her observation. It was quite apparent that Alexis was not enjoying her sojourn into maternity, and, during their brief professional relationship, she had heard her make more than one derogatory remark regarding her physical appearance. So, instead, she simply said, “you look amazing and so much happier, like this major weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Did you get some kind of good news?”  
  
“Well, Sonny's still an ass, I'm still a hippopotamus, and they just discontinued my favorite type of ice cream, but my favorite ex-husband and best friend is in town.”  
  
Perplexed by the admission, Nadine settled for a befuddled, “oh.”  
  
Alexis laughed. “Jax and I were married purely for legal reasons to help out a friend, and it was a long time ago, but it was the healthiest relationship I've ever had, and I do love him. I just seem to function better on the platonic level when it comes to men.” Apparently enjoying their conversation, the attorney leaned in closer and asked, “you do know about my run-away wedding, don't you?”  
  
“I can't say that I'm familiar with the story, no.”  
  
“It caused such a stir, you'd think my nephew would have brought it up at some point during your marriage.”  
  
“Yeah, well, Nikolas is better at concealing than he is at confiding,” Nadine remarked dryly.  
  
Equally sarcastic, the older woman offered, “he is a Cassadine, after all.”  
  
“Something you've obviously never been able to claim yourself, especially in light of yet your latest betrayal towards the family.”  
  
“Good morning, Nikolas.” Nadine nearly snickered at her lawyer's sickeningly sweet tone as Alexis ignored her nephew's caustic remark. As she spoke, both Nikolas and his attorney took their respective seats around the table. “I'm so glad you could squeeze us into your busy schedule.”  
  
“Really, Ms. Davis, I don't think that's the most productive way to start this meeting,” Mr. Elsberry chastised.  
  
“I'm just following his lead. After all, what's good for the gander should be good for the goose, too, am I not right?”  
  
“I do believe that's what's good for the goose is good for the gander.”  
  
“If you think that I'm a gander, Mr. Elsberry, I'm going to wonder how you passed high school biology let alone got through law school,” Alexis retorted mockingly.  
  
Interrupting their little playful spat, Nikolas snapped, “cut the crap, _Aunt_. What the hell do you think you're doing siding against the family in the matter of my divorce?”  
  
“Well, the last time I checked, you're wife would be a part of the family.”  
  
Nadine's soon-to-be ex glared. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“Yes, I definitely do, and, to be frank, Nikolas, I barely recognize you. You're far more a stranger to me than a nephew, so I don't feel as though I'm betraying anyone. _The mother of your children_ needed a lawyer, because you were threatening to keep her son away from her; I'm a lawyer, hence my decision to represent her.”  
  
“Spencer is Emily's son.” Nikolas could barely say the words between his clenched teeth.  
  
“Biologically, yes, but Emily died in childbirth. The only mother your son has ever known is Nadine. Putting aside your grievances with her, real or imagined, Spencer needs a maternal influence in his life. For most of your life, you lived in ignorance where your own mother was concerned, and look how you turned out.”  
  
“Again Ms. Davis,” Mr. Elsberry protested, “I really must insist that you act more professionally. While you and my client do have a personal relationship, that cannot play a part in these proceedings.”  
  
“You're absolutely right. So, with that in mind, let us put all our cards on the table, shall we,” Alexis suggested. Nadine squirmed in her seat, knowing that the spotlight would soon shift towards her direction. “Mr. Cassadine refuses to acknowledge _my_ client's parental rights regarding their son Spencer, and, now, in light of some recently acquired knowledge, we fear the child will be exposed to a less than satisfactory maternal influence.”  
  
Speaking up, Nikolas protested, “Spencer's nanny is highly qualified and even more highly trained. She has a duel degree in childhood psychology and elementary education. She's also been through extensive medical training as well.”  
  
“It's not your nanny that we object to but your mistress.”  
  
Picking up where the older woman left off, Nadine said, “if you think I'm going to allow Carly Corinthos anywhere near Spencer, you have another thing coming, Nikolas.”  
  
Scrambling, Mr. Elsberry protested, “these are just baseless and tawdry accusations. You have nothing to support your claims, and I resent the fact that you would resort to such underhanded tactics.”  
  
“I don't know about baseless,” Alexis remarked casually, shrugging her shoulders and leaning back to sit more comfortably in her chair. “But you can sure as hell say tawdry again. I do believe that's Carly's middle name. Or maybe that'd be trashy.”  
  
Meeting her soon-to-be ex's intense, irate gaze, Nadine calmly added, “you can deny it all you want, Nikolas, but we have a witness.”  
  
For several moments, there was a tense silence that enveloped their table. Finally, Nikolas smirked, narrowed his gaze, and threatened, “so, how is your brother, Nadine? You know, it's really a shame how dangerous college campuses are these days. Robberies, rapes, murders. Just about anything can happen to a guy on his way to class. It'd be just terrible if something like that would happen to Damien. If I were you, I'd tell him to watch his back... from one educated man to another.”  
  
“And this meeting is over,” Alexis announced, standing up. She waited long enough for Nadine to join her before adding, “Mr. Elsberry, you'll be hearing from me soon. If I may be so bold, get your client on a leash before he does something you can't fix for him.”  
  
Somehow, and it took every last reserve of strength and composure that she possessed, Nadine waited until they were safely away and into the hotel lobby before exclaiming, “oh my god, Damien!”  
  
“You just let me worry about Mr. Spinelli's - or is it Crowell's...? - welfare. If Nikolas wants to be a bully, fine. I'll just call someone who is well versed in the art of or, at least, someone who knows people who breaks kneecaps.”  
  
“Technically, it's Crowell, but he'll answer to both. Spinelli is his middle name. And I really don't think you should involve your husband in this,” she tentatively advised.  
  
Her attorney laughed. “Oh, don't worry. Sonny's the last person I have in mind for this job.” Nadine waited nervously as she listened to Alexis dial her phone. “Hello, Diane? This is Alexis Davis calling. We have a situation. Meet me for dinner tonight at the P.C. Grill, say seven?” Although she couldn't hear the other lawyer's response, she knew it was agreeable when Alexis smiled. “Perfect. See you then.”  
  
As the older woman snapped her cell phone shut, she met Nadine's worried gaze. “Crisis averted. Now, what do you say we go have breakfast, my treat? I'm starving.”  
  
“I guess I could eat...?”  
  
“Or, better yet,” Alexis suggested. “What about a movie? I'd kill for a large theater style popcorn with extra butter.”  
  
As they walked off together, Nadine wondered if her attorney's words were actually hyperbole. She hoped so. 

} ~ {

He couldn't help himself. Watching the young woman who sat across from him, Alan felt a surge of parental protection. It wasn't so much that he was overly fond of Robin – which he was – but the fact that she just reminded him so much of Emily. Though their situations were extremely different, both girls had been abandoned by their birth parents – Emily's through death; Robin's through a damaged set of priorities. Both girls were petite with dark hair and dark eyes. Both girls were warm and friendly, caring, more concerned for others than about themselves. And both girls had been dealt a shocking blow just when they were on the verge of true womanhood. Robin's, however, had been a living death sentence; Emily had just died.  
  
“So, I hear you had a rather unpleasant experience here yesterday. On behalf of Doctor Drake, I apologize.”  
  
“No, I should be the one to apologize,” Robin argued. “It was immature and unprofessional of me to break our appointment like that... no matter how impertinent and rude Doctor Drake might have been. However, he's immaterial at this point. I didn't come here today to talk about your newest neurosurgeon; I wanted to talk to you about a job.”  
  
Unsure of where she was headed with her proposed discussion, Alan questioned, “is there a particular case that you're working on that you need help with? I know that I've been your doctor for years now, but HIV and AIDS is not my specialty. Not to be indelicate, but I took your case out of necessity, not because of my confidence in my ability to treat you. Now, over the years, I have done my fair share of reading and research into the topic, but I'm nowhere near....”  
  
“That's not what I meant, Doctor Quartermaine,” Robin interrupted, saving him from saying more. “As you know, I've been living and working in Paris since I graduated from medical school.”  
  
“Rumor has it that you've been doing more than that. This is a little late, but congratulations on the adoption. Mac showed me pictures of your daughter the last time we met up at yet another of this town's endless charity functions. She's beautiful.”  
  
He noticed the proud smile that lit up the young woman's face as that of a loving parent's, and he wondered, just briefly, what his own daughter's face would have looked like if she had been given an opportunity to actually raise her son. Nadine had always tried her best to include he and Monica in Spencer's life, but, now, with her divorce from Nikolas, Alan feared what would happen with his relationship with his grandson. They'd already lost so much. He didn't even want to contemplate losing yet another person that he loved.  
  
“... and she's actually the reason why I've decided to move back home – to Port Charles – if you'll have me.”  
  
Admittedly, he had been distracted while Robin was talking, but he didn't want to reveal his train of thoughts to his young patient or ask her to repeat herself and make it seem as though he was uninterested in what she was saying. Instead, he pieced together the fractured bits that he had managed to hear and asked, “are you hinting for a job, Robin?”  
  
She laughed. “Yeah, I guess I am... if you're hiring, of course. Please, don't fire someone to open up a position for me or sacrifice a necessary part of your budget. If you don't have room on staff for me, I can always look elsewhere. I just... well, GH has meant so much to me over the years. It feels like this is where I belong, do you know what I mean?”  
  
“I do,” he assured her. “And, in fact, your timing could not be more perfect. Monica and I were just discussing a few weeks ago how desperately this hospital needs some fresh blood around here. We've had a lot of younger doctors and nurses moving away from the area, and our staff is old.” When she went to protest, he stopped her, chuckling. “No, don't deny it. It's true. Besides, we raise millions annually for HIV. I think it's high time we put that money to use here with our own HIV specialist.”  
  
Now, it was her turn to tease him. “Are you saying that there just might be an opening available to me?”  
  
Alan stood, moving around his desk to give the younger woman a hug. “I'd say welcome to the family right now, but you've long since already been a part of it.” Releasing her, he added, “but it's good to have you back, Robin.”  
  
“It's good to be here.”  
  
“And as for Patrick Drake.... If I can survive marriage to Lucy Coe, I think I can keep a young rake like him under control.”  
  
Robin giggled as she left. “Hey, if nothing else, at least we'll be on different floors and in opposite wings of the hospital, right?”  
  
Yes, at least there was that.  
  
Although he didn't say it out loud, Alan had his doubts about corralling Patrick Drake's playboy persona... especially in regards to Robin. It seemed to him that a little innocent flirtation and fun never hurt anyone... or, at least, anyone who wasn't a Quartermaine. Come to think of it, he noted to himself, maybe he should check to make sure that Drake didn't play tennis... just in case. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

As he slid into the opposite seat across from Maxie Jones, Johnny knew that the evening wouldn't end with him going into the fashion business. Clothing industry? Design market? Whatever it was that he had proposed to bankroll for the young woman.  
  
“No matter what my offer, you're going to turn me down, aren't you?”  
  
Unhappily, Maxie slumped in her chair, her dainty chin falling to land with a smash against her open palm. She was leaning heavily against the table on her elbows. “Yes.”  
  
“You found out about my father, didn't you?”  
  
Sighing, she seemed to fold in upon herself even more. “Yes, damn it. I did. Robin just could't leave a good thing alone. She's such a spoil sport, always ruining my fun.”  
  
He laughed. He knew that she would hate his humor in that moment, but he couldn't help himself. “Do you often find yourself getting business offer's from gangsters' sons?”  
  
“No, that's not what I meant,” Maxie dismissed with a waving of her free hand. “Robin's just a killjoy. She opens my credit card statements so I actually have to face the ugly truth of my spending habits. She constantly yells at me about my sex life.” Here, Johnny cleared his throat and took a deep gulp of his complimentary ice water, but his dinner guest didn't seem to notice his discomfort. “Oh, and let's not forget the fact that she dragged me halfway across the world to move back to this ridiculous town only to dump all over the first good thing that's ever happened to me here. You.”  
  
“Older sister,” he guessed.  
  
“Ugh, worse,” the young woman bemoaned. “She's my saintly cousin... who just so happens to have the last name of Scorpio.”  
  
“As in Mac Scorpio, police commissioner?”  
  
“The one and only,” Maxie answered. Before he could say more, she continued, “and, for the record, he's also my adoptive dad.”  
  
“Oh boy.”  
  
“Or girl.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Maxie giggled then, thankfully proving to Johnny that she wasn't as suicidal as he had first guessed. “Sorry. I just wanted to say that once to a guy I barely knew. Considering the fact that I'm _never_ going to have children, I figured I'd better take the opportunity when it presented itself... even if it did come at your expense.”  
  
Somewhat confused, he replied, “alright.”  
  
“So, anyway,” she announced, shrugging her shoulders and sitting up straight once more. “Thanks but no thanks, J-Z – ha!,” she laughed at her own unintentional pun, “but I'm afraid I can't allow you to be my personal ATM machine.”  
  
“Well, if you change your mind...?”  
  
“I won't.” Maxie rolled her eyes. “When Robin told me who your family is last night, I totally played it off for her, and, at first, I really was serious. I told her that I didn't care what skeletons were buried underneath your designer shoes in your closet, I'd take start up cash for my own design label anywhere I could get it – laundered or not. But then I actually sat down and thought about it some, and I realized that, while I'm perfectly comfortable with such an arrangement, it wouldn't be fair to you.”  
  
Curious, he asked, “how so?”  
  
“Well, as soon as Mac found out who was bankrolling my little enterprise, he'd crack down on you like the former badass Aussie he used to be. He'd come gunning for you, both barrels blazing, and you'd be inside a jail cell before you could say 'horizontal stripes make me look fat.”  
  
“You do realize that prisoners don't actually wear black and white striped jumpsuits anymore, don't you?”  
  
“Ugh, I know,” Maxie shuddered visibly. “It's worse. Orange!”  
  
“And sometimes blue,” Johnny told her helpfully. Of all the conversations he could have had that evening, he certainly never would have bet on a discussion about prison wear. Sadly, though, he'd had stranger.  
  
“... which would totally not work with your complexion.”  
  
“Anyway,” he segued, leaning back in his seat, and casually opening the menu placed before him. “Since we're here already, why don't we eat. I'm sure you have a pitch prepared whether you came ready to accept my offer or not, and, if you're really serious about opening up your own boutique, it won't hurt to practice that pitch, right?”  
  
“Are you sure you have nothing better to do,” she asked hesitantly.  
  
“Like what – break sone kneecaps, peddle some drugs to kids? No, I save all my criminal activities for the weekend.”  
  
“Oh, good to know,” Maxie remarked brightly.  
  
Leaning across the table, he whispered, “you do realize I was just joking, right? I don't... it's my father who....”  
  
“Relax, mini-don. I was just messing with you, too. I might be a blonde, and I might be a selfish ditz, but I'm not anybody's fool, least of all yours.”  
  
Johnny chuckled. “Fair enough.” As he lowered his head to peruse the menu, he said, “go ahead then. Tell me what you have in mind for this store of yours.”  
  
“Well, it takes a lot of start up cash to design an entire line of clothing and then produce a boutique's worth of merchandise, so what I'm thinking is that, if I get another business offer, I'm going to suggest more of a made-to-order situation. I have all these designs that I could display, and practically my whole wardrobe is self-made. I could display my own clothes as well. People would then come into my shop, based upon the style and image that I present to them, and then they'd request certain pieces from me, all of which, after they were made, would be MJ originals. Or maybe that'll just be Jones originals, or perhaps M. Jones, or maybe even....”  
  
The woman was interrupted by someone approaching their table. Looking up, Johnny expected it to be their waitress and was instead surprised to find his father's lawyer bent over and admiring his dinner guest's shoes. “Diane...?,” he questioned.  
  
Ignoring him entirely, the redhead exclaimed with profuse admiration coloring her tone, “wherever did you get those marvelous shoes? I _have_ to get a pair for myself.”  
  
“Well, actually, you can't,” Maxie answered. If he didn't know any better, he would have believed that he detected a note of smug pride to her voice. “Because they're one of a kinds, designed especially for me.”  
  
“You're personal friends with a designer,” Diane asked. Johnny had to choke down a bark of laughter as he watched the older woman turn a decided shade of green.  
  
“I _am_ a designer.”  
  
“And you designed and made those shoes,” the redhead demanded to know.  
  
“Yep,” Maxie answered succinctly.  
  
Without delay, Diane whipped out a business card. “Call me,” she told the younger woman. “I don't care what you'll charge, I want a pair of those shoes.”  
  
Before Maxie could respond, the attorney maneuvered away from their table and took a seat at her own. Smiling, Johnny announced, “well, it doesn't look like you'll need me after all. And, now, I think I'm ready to order. You?”  
  
“Famished.”

} ~ {

For the past forty-five minutes, Alexis was pretty damn sure that she had been talking to herself. It had only taken moments for their server to wait on them, and, being P.C. Grill regulars, neither she nor her dinner partner had been in need of time to study the menu, so they had ordered promptly. A slow night, their meal had been placed before them fifteen minutes later, and Alexis had promptly set about devouring her own food. In contrast, her fellow professional had not touch a single bite of her dinner, making Alexis feel even more zoo-worthy than she usually did.   
  
“You do realize that, for most people, calories do not go straight to the feet, right?”  
  
Diane Miller met her gaze distractedly, shook her short sheared red head, and then laughed. “Of course, Alexis, and, for the record, counselor, mine go straight to my ass.”  
  
She sighed. “I haven't seen my ass in weeks.”  
  
“It looks quite small... in comparison.”  
  
And that, she feared, was the closest she'd ever come to receiving a compliment from her fellow lawyer. Diane Miller just wasn't the type of woman to waste her time boosting another person's self-esteem.  
  
Shaking away her thoughts, Alexis returned to the present. “So, if you're not afraid that eating will prevent you from fitting into these one of a kind shoes you keep going on about, what's the problem? Is there something wrong with your food?”  
  
“I'm sure it's just fine.”  
  
“Then...?”  
  
“Oh, it's nothing,” Diane waved off her concern. “I just can't eat when I get this excited.”  
  
“Well, I'd hate to see what happens to you when you win a case or get lucky.”  
  
“I tell you,” the other attorney whispered conspiratorially. “Achieving that much self-satisfaction is the best damn diet trick I've ever tried.”  
  
“I'll keep that in mind for after I give birth to my herd of Russian-Cuban elephants.”  
  
Diane tilted her head slightly in mocking acknowledgement. “A rare breed.”  
  
“Anyway, if you could manage to focus for five minutes – how you ever became known as the second best lawyer in this town, I'll never know – and forget about Maxie Jones and her shoes, there's something important that I need to discuss with you.”  
  
“As you said earlier when you called to arrange this little tete-a-tete, Alexis, but, before we get started, I have three things to say. First of all, I'm the best; you're second in this town now, sweetheart. Secondly, they're not just shoes; they're pieces of art. And, finally, do you know Miss Jones?”  
  
Snapping, Alexis hit the table, making the dishes, glassware, and silverware rattle in their places. “For pete's sake, Miller, snap out of it! Focus!”  
  
Innocently, Diane fidgeted in her seat. “I was just asking....”  
  
“Yes, I know Maxie, but that's immaterial right....”  
  
Her dinner companion interrupted her. “Do you think she'd be willing to work for me privately? Surely, it wouldn't cost that much to support a budding fashion designer. I'm positive I'd be able to write it off somehow as an expense. My accountant is quite good, you know.”  
  
Fed up with the woman across from her, Alexis blurted out, “Nikolas threatened your Mr. Grasshopper today.”  
  
Diane gulped at her, blinked several times, took a massive gulp of her red wine, and then exclaimed, “good god, Davis! Talk about burying the lead. Why didn't you tell me this an hour ago?”  
  
“I. Tried.”  
  
She watched as the other lawyer ignored her lack of humor and continued to complain, “and did you have to spring such news upon me so suddenly? A little warning would have been nice.”  
  
Irritatedly, she snipped, “put your big girl panties to use and deal with it.”  
  
“Well, if I were wearing panties, then....”  
  
Alexis gaped at the woman across from her. “You're serious, aren't you?”  
  
“They completely ruin the lines of this suit. True fashion sense takes sacrifice, my friend. Now, about Mr. Grasshopper, would you please tell me exactly what Mr. Cassadine said.” It was not a request but a demand, and the redhead shifted topics as seamlessly as, apparently, her backside appeared.  
  
“He first asked Nadine how her brother was and then, without waiting for a response, went on to say how dangerous college campuses are, how people get mugged, and raped, and murdered on them every day. The threat wasn't explicit, but it was certainly implied far enough that he left Nadine terrified and me quite sick to my stomach when I recalled the fact that we are related.”  
  
“Are you sure that wasn't just the morning sickness,” Diane replied helpfully. Alexis ignored her. “What prompted this threat against my secretary's life?”  
  
“We brought up the fact that we had a witness who could corroborate Nikolas' affair with Carly Corinthos.”  
  
“Ugh, that woman,” the other attorney shuddered. “I'd swear her middle name was trashy.”  
  
“Ha! That's what I said.”  
  
After a moment's contemplation, Diane continued, “so, obviously, Nikolas realizes that Spinelli is your witness.”  
  
“And I'm afraid my nephew is not above taking the law into his own hands and dealing with someone whom he sees as a threat before we can even file a restraining order against him.”  
  
“I highly doubt that would work anyway, but it doesn't matter.”  
  
Surprised, Alexis asked, “it doesn't?”  
  
“Nope, because nephew of yours or not, nobody messes with my Mr. Grasshopper. Cassadine's ass is grass.”  
  
“And let me guess, you're the power, zero-turn lawnmower?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Diane refuted indignantly. “Do you actually think I'd risk ruining a pair of shoes doing something like manual labor... in a yard?”  
  
Although she laughed heartily and signaled for their waiter to bring her the dessert menu, Alexis did not ask her fellow professional just who exactly it was she planned to sic on Nikolas. Frankly, she just didn't want to know. She had enough moral deficiency in her personal life to deal with already; she didn't need her professional world to get just as mired down as well.

} ~ {

He really wasn't one for packing, especially in light of the fact that he was simply going to take his bike for his trip down to New York City. He was a light traveler and usually just bought what he needed as he went, but Jason wasn't sure what to expect from Elizabeth once he found her. He could be gone for a day; he could never return. After all, it wasn't like there was anything keeping him in Port Charles. Sure, there was Sonny's deal with Anthony Zacchara concerning the old man's son and while he liked John Zacchara well enough, he wasn't going to shape his life around a partnership he neither understood nor agreed with. If he left and decided not to come back, that was Sonny's problem to deal with. He just didn't care anymore.  
  
So, it was while he was tossing everything he had returned to town with into a small duffle bag – a few pairs of jeans, several t-shirts, underwear, socks, a couple of his favorite books – that he heard a knock upon Elizabeth's studio door and just assumed that it was Johnny coming to see him. After all, the younger man was the only person who knew where Jason was staying.  
  
“Yeah, it's open. Come in.”  
  
Although the door didn't bang open behind him, it also wasn't a silent process either, and, Johnny, who, no matter what, was a mob boss' son, never made a sound when entering a room. Stiffening in response to the knowledge that he had been wrong about his visitor, Jason slowly turned around, halfway prepared to reach for his gun in case someone else had their weapon trained upon him. Instead, what he found was worse – much, much worse.  
  
“See, Michael,” Carly cooed to her son. “I told you Jason would be happy to see us.”  
  
Sighing, he pinched his nose and loosened his stance. Yes, Carly was a threat to him but not to his life... at least, he didn't think so. “What do you want, Carly?”  
  
“Well, we heard you were back in town, and Michael's been asking about you a lot. All he talks about is Uncle Jason this or Uncle Jason that, and I tried to get him to be patient, telling him that you'd be over to see him as soon as you possibly could, but he couldn't wait anymore, so we decided to come to you.”  
  
Same old Carly, same old lies, same old manipulation.  
  
“I'm sorry, but now's not a good time.”  
  
Persistently, she stepped forward, pushing a silent Michael with her. Judging by the little boy's expression, he was pretty sure that Michael didn't remember him, that he only knew his name because Carly refused to let him go. “Yeah, well, it would mean a lot to Michael. Just a few minutes, Jase, and then we'll get out of your way. Promise. When you have more time, you can swing by the house later in the week then, okay?”  
  
“Carly, I'm going out of town, and I'm not sure....”  
  
Breaking into his sentence, she yelled, “ugh, I can't believe Sonny! You just got back, he knows how important you are to me... and of course, Michael, too, and already he's sending you away on errands!”  
  
“Errands,” he questioned, repeating her word choice.  
  
“You know that's not what I meant, Jason. It's just... you can do things that Sonny can't, important things.”  
  
“I see,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Actually, though, Sonny doesn't know that I'm leaving town again. This has nothing to do with him. It's personal.”  
  
Carly smiled. “Well, then, you can definitely put off your trip for a couple of hours. Michael and I haven't had supper yet.” Glancing down at his watch, Jason was dismayed to see that it was nearly 8:30. If it wasn't for the fact that giving in and taking Michael to get something to eat would only play into Carly's games, he would have been tempted to take her up on her suggestion, simply to make sure that the little boy had a decent meal before later going to bed. “Why don't you treat us to a pizza at Jake's. We can reminisce a little while we eat and show Michael where we met.”  
  
“Carly, Jake's is a bar.”  
  
“So, Michael will be perfectly safe with you there.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Whining, she begged, “oh, come on, Jase, please! It would mean so much to Michael. You have no idea how much he's missed you.”  
  
“And I've missed him, too, Carly, but that doesn't mean I'm going to postpone my trip, and it certainly doesn't mean I'm going to allow you to use him in order to manipulate and control me. I'm sorry, but you need to leave, and, if you won't do it voluntarily, I'll call your guards and have them carry you out. Your choice.”  
  
With a huff, she spun around on her heels, yanked Michael with her, and left stomping. That time, the door did slam. 

} ~ {

Sitting in the back of the limo Sonny provided her with, Carly fumed. She was visibly so angry that the guards had volunteered to keep Michael with them even though the car only possessed bucket seats up front, and she had gladly taken them up on the offer. For a moment, she considered lashing out – breaking all the barware and perhaps taking the subsequent shards of glass and stabbing the limo's leather seats. But then she thought better of such an action. With Sonny becoming so stingy towards her, she wouldn't have been surprised if he pettily would have refused to pay to have the vehicle serviced, and the last thing she wanted to do was destroy one of the last obvious signs of wealth that she had access to. That still left her in a rage, though, and she needed a way to release her tension.  
  
“Nikolas,” she simpered seductively into her phone after dialing the prince's number and hearing him pick up. “Just the man I want to see tonight. I'll be over in half an hour. Make sure your nanny's still awake.”  
  
Before Nikolas could respond, she snapped her cell shut, terminating the call. While he certainly wasn't Jason Morgan, screwing Nikolas Cassadine had its perks, not the least of which was the fact that he was Jason's precious baby sister Emily's widow. And with a sly grin, the knife of betrayal slipped just that much deeper in her estimation.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

He wasn't an easy man to love, Sonny knew this about himself. He was stubborn and prideful, secretive. His relationships weren't true partnerships, but, realistically, they couldn't be. He wan't the type of guy who could go home at night and tell his wife about his day. Even if he was willing to risk her to such exposure, most women didn't want to hear such things from their husbands. In Alexis' case, she legally couldn't. There was one mark against them.  
  
It also didn't help matters that, whether by nature or nurture, Alexis was also stubborn, prideful, and secretive. She could no more trust someone blindly than he could, and, given her past, he didn't blame her for her paranoia. Add to that her pregnancy hormones, and his wife was even more temperamental than normal. He just had to find a way to soothe her ruffled feathers.  
  
If nothing else could be said about his relationship with Carly, Sonny believed that his ex had been much easier to pacify. At her center, Carly was a greedy, desperate child. Only their worst fights were immune to the charms of a new piece of jewelry or an expensive designer dress. A smile, a romantic evening for two, and a present almost always said 'I love you' to his former spouse. His current one, though, was a whole different matter.  
  
Alexis was not an emotionally demonstrative woman. She kept her feelings within, and any overt declarations on his part were only met with scorn and wariness. Such displays, quite frankly, made the mother of his unborn child uncomfortable. And she certainly didn't need his money, for she had plenty of her own. He couldn't simply revert back to old habits and purchase her forgiveness. That left him with gestures – thoughtful, respectful gestures, something with actual meaning behind it.  
  
All day as he went about his work responsibilities, Sonny, in the back of his mind, had been pondering his situation with Alexis. It wasn't so much their disagreement which bothered him but rather the embrace he had witnessed between his wife and the one man in the world he hated the most. Jax.  
  
Their fight was nothing new; they fought all the time. Usually, after a particular venomous quarrel, they would go their separate ways for a few hours, cool down, and then eventually agree to disagree. While not the healthiest approach, for they more or less would walk around their issues rather than work through them, at least such truces called an end to their hostilities, and they could return to their ever complicated existence together.  
  
However, Alexis' relationship with Jax was another story. Though somewhat preoccupied and admittedly self-involved, Sonny wasn't blind. He saw how close his wife was with her ex-husband. Jax and Alexis, unlike himself and the lawyer, didn't fight, and, when they did encounter a point of contention, they solved the problem instead of just ignoring it. While he knew that their friendship was perfectly platonic, Sonny also knew men and women and the dynamics between them well enough to realize that intimacy did not always stem from physical love.  
  
There was also a different kind of intimacy between friends and even between enemies, and the slightest provocation or tiniest spark could ignite something between two people that logic and common sense could not extinguish. He himself had proven that twice, both times with women that he went on to share a child with and marry. If Alexis had fallen into such a trap with him, surely she could be just as tricked with Jax as well.  
  
On the other hand, though, Sonny wasn't sure that his wife would chose him if he forced her hand and made her decide between himself and his rival. Not only would she resent such an ultimatum, but their relationship was rocky... as evidenced by, first and foremost, the fact that they didn't even live together. Jax represented safety to her, and, because of her history, Alexis would choose safety over passion and obligation any day. If he pushed her, he might be the one to fall, and that was not something Sonny was willing to risk. Yet.  
  
So, he planned to offer his wife an olive branch and simply ignore Jax's presence in their lives as much as possible. After all, it certainly wouldn't be the first time one of his relationships was shadowed by the presence of another man. Jason's specter had haunted his marriage to Carly from the day they said 'I do' until the day they said 'I don't any longer.' Not that Sonny blamed his failed marriage on his enforcer, but he had always been there – maybe not between them but lurking in the shadows, in the background of Carly's mind. But he had dealt with the fact, and, just like with Jason, Sonny would also deal with Jax, and, eventually, the candy-boy would leave and go back to wherever it was he came from, because, if his back and forth relationship with Brenda had taught Sonny anything, it was that, when things became tense and difficult, Jax always bailed. Perhaps he had never graduated from high school, but Sonny wasn't stupid. He knew that history always repeated itself if given enough time. He just needed to be patient.  
  
With those thoughts in mind, Sonny slid off his seat in the back of his limo and moved so that he was sitting alongside the tinted, bulletproof partition that separated him from his driver. Knocking on the divider, he waited for Max to lower the window. He didn't have to wait for long. If nothing else could be said about his men, they were prompt.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Corinthos,” the bodyguard asked of him, alert and ready for any request or order.  
  
“Do you know where my wife is?”  
  
“Marco said that Miss Davis had plans this evening.” Despite the fact that Alexis was his wife, his men still continued to refer to her by her maiden name. Carly had retained Corinthos as her last name, so, for the guards, she was still Mrs. C. For the moment, Sonny didn't say anything. He'd save that battle for another day. “She was meeting another attorney for dinner at The Grill – Diane Miller.”  
  
Narrowing his gaze, Sonny questioned, “isn't that Anthony Zacchara's lawyer?”  
  
“Uh... yeah.” He watched as Max removed one hand from the steering wheel and nervously scratched behind his left ear. “But maybe it's not a work related dinner. Maybe they're just... friends?” Despite the hope in the bigger man's voice, there was also doubt.  
  
“You know as well as I do that Alexis does not do social niceties. She doesn't have dinner for dinner's sake. She works. She works. And then she works some more. No, this meeting is more than just two professional women catching up with one another. She's up to something.”  
  
“Well, whatever the reason for it,” his bodyguard was quick to reassure him, “Marco doubled Miss Davis' security detail. She's safe.”  
  
“Why don't we make sure of that ourselves, though,” Sonny suggested. Smiling, he detailed, “we'll swing by The Grill, pick Alexis and Marco up, and they can then ride back to The Towers with us.” And then, once they were back home, he'd somehow maneuver Alexis into his penthouse for the night. He'd make her something rich and decadent for dessert, something she'd be incapable of refusing thanks to pregnancy cravings, and then he'd press his advantage to get her into _his_ bed. If he played his hand well enough, he'd make it so that she wouldn't want to leave in the morning.  
  
Satisfied with his plan, Sonny went back to his previous seat, taking Max's silence as acceptance of his idea. Seamlessly and without instruction, the limo's partition went back up and, within minutes, they were pulling into the Port Charles Hotel's parking lock. As he stepped out, he saw his guard do the same thing, but he waved him down. “Just stay out here, Max, keep the car running. With Marco and another man inside, I should be fine, and this won't take long.”  
  
With a nod, the bodyguard did as he was told, and Sonny strolled into the hotel as though he owned it. Then again, with the ELQ stock he controlled thanks to Jason, he did own it... at least, a part of it. That thought along with the knowledge of just how much Edward hated his presence in the Quartermaine family business put a dimpled smile upon his face, a smile that stayed there until he turned into the hotel's restaurant and spied his wife dining, not with Diane Miller, but with the very same man who was, in his opinion, standing between them. He didn't know what had happened – if Alexis had lied about who she was spending her evening with or if the guards had lied to shield him, but, no matter who was at fault for the betrayal, he was livid and certainly in no mood to smooth over his differences with his wife.  
  
Spinning on his heel, Sonny stormed out of the hotel, refusing to vent his frustrations in public. He wouldn't give anyone, especially Jax, the satisfaction. Instead, he returned to his limo, slid inside, and yelled at Max to take him home. Before the car even had a chance to pull out of the parking lot and back onto the city streets once more, he was drinking, the potent scotch scorching a wide, gaping path through his animosity and transforming it into a blind, dangerous rage.

} ~ {

She refused to speak to Patrick. She would not sleep with him. She would not share a bed with him. She threw him a going away party.  
  
Elizabeth simply wasn't being a bitch, though she was certainly capable; she was just doing what was expected of her. Patrick and their coworkers would forgive her for being eccentric, even odd, but to ignore the rules of society, to flaunt hospital tradition would label her a piranha, and, whether she liked them or not, she needed them. She needed them to renew her contract, she needed them to request her services during their surgeries, and she needed them to follow her instructions when given. That didn't mean, though, that she had to behave.  
  
Oh, Elizabeth wasn't acting out aggressively. No, she had matured past that adolescent stage. Lizzie had been gone for years. Or, perhaps, it could be said that she had actually regressed, because at least her teenage alter-ego was honest and forthright. Elizabeth's current mode of rebellion was anything but. Rather, she was surly and drunk. Really, really drunk. However, that was her little secret... or, at least, one of them. Nobody else realized just how much of her own liquor she had consumed that evening.  
  
The loft apartment was crowded beyond its constraint. With the windows to the small iron balcony and fire escape open and the hall outside exposed through the open front – and only – door, her guests flowed around her, their constant movement juxtaposing her static pose. Whereas everyone else – Patrick included – chose to mingle and circulate, she stood rooted in one place and one place only. One had to look closely to determine whether she was even aware of her surroundings, if she was awake. Only the occasional blinking of the eyes and the more occasional lifting of the glass revealed Elizabeth's consciousness. She was that buzzed.  
  
Whereas sobriety left her feeling as though she were drowning, inebriation offered her a buoyancy otherwise deficient in her personality. The white wine, the vodka, and the gin made Elizabeth feel lighter, and her usual reluctance ebbed somewhat. She wasn't silent and unsociable that evening by choice. Rather, her aloneness was simply the result of no one wanting to speak to her. Obviously, after years of receiving the cold shoulder from her, they had learned to return it in spades.  
  
It didn't matter, though. Elizabeth didn't mind. If someone would have approached her, she would have responded – shared a conversation with them without restraining herself, but no one did, so she didn't. Instead, she just drank. Whatever came by on the ever-circulating drink trays propelled by the waiters dressed all in black, that's what she would drink next, and, because of the party's white theme in her white loft apartment, the servers were easy to spot even to her less than focused gaze. It wasn't yet quite Memorial Day, but her guests had been eager to flaunt traditional rules and wear her desired hue. Whereas they craved the little rebellions in life, Elizabeth simply wanted to exist in a colorless world.  
  
Around her, the party tumbled on. When one person would leave, two more would arrive. Night crashed down upon New York that evening with a vengeance, the heat of the day lingering well past the sun's adieu. Eventually, food was served, all catered and all white passed around by the life-size ants who bore them upon flat, disk-like appendages attached to their hands. Elizabeth avoided those industrious workers, though, preferring her liquid diet, so, by the time Patrick found her and slipped an arm around her waist, presenting to the rest of the world the perfect, united couple they purported to be, Elizabeth didn't really mind his touch. Her animosity towards him long forgotten thanks to the numbing effects of so much alcohol, she was simply grateful for his physical presence. While she wouldn't go so far as to say that he had the power to lift her up, she sure as hell was less likely to fall down drunk when beside him if for no other reason than to save face. On the other hand, with him beside her, she wasn't avoidable any longer. Winding up her smile, Elizabeth, ever the toy monkey, prepared to perform.  
  
“So, Head of Neurology at General Hospital, huh,” one of Patrick's fellow hot shot surgeons said, coming over to shake Patrick's hand and slap him powerfully – twice – upon the back. It wasn't the first time she had heard such an introduction to conversation that evening, and she knew it wouldn't be the last. “Where the hell is that exactly?”  
  
“I'll still be in New York... just not the city.”  
  
“Is there really anywhere else, though, in all honesty?”  
  
Allowing her head to tilt back and forth from one tall doctor to another, Elizabeth felt like a ping pong ball – tiny, hollow, and dressed all in white. The motion made her dizzy, so she clutched her champagne flute tighter before lifting it once more to take another drink. In that moment, she felt as though every single sip of alcohol that she had consumed that night had been justified and deserved if for no other reason than to brace herself against the discussion she was about to endure. Maybe she had absolutely no desire to go back home, but that didn't mean she was immune against hearing about it. In her opinion, Port Charles and everything it entailed and contained was better off forgotten, shoved into the attic of her distant mind.  
  
“Actually, Port Charles isn't so bad.” While the other doctor laughed, Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Patrick, undaunted, continued on. “It's smaller than New York City, obviously, yes, but you can get just about everything that's good about New York there, too. It has high-end real estate, top notch shopping and dining, and plenty of the arts.”  
  
Under her breath, Elizabeth snorted. “Yeah, because gangsters need their Mcmansions, their Prada, their cannoli, and their Andrew Lloyd Weber, too.” If either of the surgeons heard her, they did not react.  
  
“Hell, Port Charles even has things that New York City doesn't have,” Patrick boasted. “It has a castle – a genuine, albeit fairly modern, gothic castle.”  
  
“Yeah, that's haunted,” she retorted snidely. Unfortunately, however, her second outburst had not been nearly as quiet. This time, she knew that she had been blatantly ignored by both male parties.  
  
A fourth member joined their group, though, at that precise moment – the other doctor's wife, so the conversation shifted. She, a woman who had no further ambitions than spitting out babies for other women to take care of so that she herself would not be expected to work, said, “and I've read that it's a wonderful place to raise a family – so... bucolic.” Elizabeth gave her points for not trying to cite Port Charles' non-existent low crime rate. While the lady herself might be a pointless waste of Manhattan's limited space, she, apparently, wasn't stupid. “But, then again, children are not in your future, correct,” she questioned Patrick and Elizabeth.  
  
Perhaps, Elizabeth found herself considering, she should rethink that not stupid estimation.  
  
“No, certainly not,” her boyfriend responded, squeezing her as though such a display would emphasize his words. “We definitely prefer the carefree, child-less lifestyle. It works better with our careers, and, frankly, we just have never....”  
  
“Actually,” Elizabeth interrupted him, releasing herself from his clinging grip. “While it's true that Patrick has never wanted kids, I can't have them. At least, not anymore.”  
  
Even though her words were not slurred, her bold announcement was more open and honest than Elizabeth had ever been before in her coworker's presence. As a pregnant hush fell across the large, lush room only to be replaced by tactless whispering, she knew that everyone had become aware of her inebriated state, but the alcohol also made it so that she just didn't care. She wasn't embarrassed nor immune to embarrassment, just freed from her normal self-imposed constraints. It felt good; it felt healthy.  
  
And then she turned towards Patrick, saw the shock, dismay, and undisguised disgust upon his face, and ran from the room.  
  
It felt like she was going to be sick.

} ~ {

He had been elbow deep in financial documents and legal contracts when Carly called, announcing without waiting for his permission that she was on her way over. Though Nikolas didn't mind sleeping with the whore, he certainly did not relish the idea of having to postpone his work in order to deal with one of the woman's famous temper-tantrums. Emily had told him often and always quite colorfully just how volatile Carly could be when in a snit. His wife had not been fond of her former sister-in-law for more than just the obvious reasons.  
  
Briefly Nikolas wondered what Emily would think and say if she knew of his current... affair with the blonde, but he was really too practical to worry about such things. Whether he liked the fact or not, his wife was dead, but he was alive, and Carly was willing. After losing Emily, he had tried to be with another good girl, dating, seducing, and then marrying the first nice woman who crossed his path, but his relationship with Nadine had been a disaster, though it couldn't be said that Nikolas had not learned his lesson. From now on, he'd simply limit his sexual conquests to sluts, women who did not respect themselves enough to mind the fact that he didn't respect them either. The fact that Carly was so easy to manipulate and toy with only made her more appealing.  
  
However, that could only afford her so much patience on his part. He was not about to entertain the idea of actually dating the woman, so, if that's what she thought sex between them was eventually going to lead to, Carly needed to wake up. No, she would never be his girlfriend. There would never be tender, sweet emotions between them, at least not on his part, and the sooner Carly realized that the better off they would both be.  
  
So, it was with hesitation that he awaited her arrival. He knew that he could have called her back and cancelled her plans, but there was no need to be hasty. Yet. If she came to fuck, he'd oblige her; if she came for comfort, or friendship, or hoping that he'd lend her a shoulder to cry on, she'd be back on the launch boat before the lake mist could even fully evaporate from her skin and hair, Michael or no Michael. While he would always love Emily and knew that his dead wife had loved her nephew, to Nikolas Michael was nothing more than the brat kid of a white trash tramp and the local pretty-boy drunk.  
  
“I'll take it from here,” Carly told his butler, dismissing Alfred as she entered his study, her son trailing forlornly behind her. “Why don't you go sit down somewhere or something before you break a hip.” Addressing him, she continued, “Jesus, your doorman there's like ninety. What is the retirement age in Greece? Or is it Russia? Whatever.” Forgetting her own curiosity, Carly immediately maneuvered herself in front of his wet bar, pouring a generous portion of his finest whisky into one of his brandy sniffers.  
  
Really, the woman had no class or refinement whatsoever.  
  
Without standing and returning to his papers, Nikolas spoke without looking at his guest. “what do you want, Carly?”  
  
“I said on the phone that I needed a distraction.”  
  
“Actually, no, you didn't.”  
  
She shrugged. “Well, anyway, I do, and, naturally, I thought of you first.”  
  
“Naturally,” he returned dryly.  
  
Belligerently, Carly slammed her empty glass down upon the bar and swiveled her head around to glare at him. “What, you don't believe me?”  
  
“No, actually, I don't.” Glancing up, Nikolas regarded her blankly. “What I believe is that you went to Jason first, and, when he wouldn't give you the time of day, you thought you'd come crawling your sloppy seconds over to my door.”  
  
Surprising him, she simply shrugged with one shoulder before turning to pour herself another heavy drink. “You never complained before.”  
  
“Touche.”  
  
After obliterating several fingers of whisky in one swallow, Carly gasped and then said, “you might be a bastard, but at least you don't ignore me.”  
  
“And Jason does,” he surmised.  
  
“He's been back in town for days, hell weeks – I don't know, and he never once came to see me, never once thought 'oh, hey, I should probably go find out how Carly's doing.' Sonny saw him. I guarantee that he went to see his grandmother. But the mother of his child? No, he hid from me.”  
  
Standing, Nikolas decided to abandon his work, at least temporarily. As he approached the angry and rapidly drinking woman, he suggested, “shouldn't this conversation wait until Michael is settled and taken care of?” So far, up to that point, the sterling mother that she was, Carly had seemingly forgotten that her son was even in the room with them. “I really don't think this is a conversation that he needs to be hearing.” He might not care about the child, but the sooner he was dealt with and sent away the sooner he could commence in fucking the brat's mother.  
  
But Carly was not amenable to his sage advice. “Why not? He's going to need to hear this eventually – hear that his father wants nothing to do with him. Better now when he's still young than later when he's seducing his mother's husband... or you get my point.”  
  
“Carly I think that you should....”  
  
“Leave,” a third voice entered their conversation, its loud, demanding tone cutting Nikolas' words off. “Now.”  
  
“This isn't a really good time, Anthony,” he patiently informed the older man who had used Wyndemere's infamous tunnels to gain access to the house. “I'll call you tomorrow, and we can set up a meeting.”  
  
“Like the last one that you never bothered to show up for,” the mob boss asked rhetorically. “No, I think not. Lucky for you, your lovely wife was here to keep me entertained in your absence that day, but I'm not in a chatty mood tonight, _Nikolas_ , so your plans to sleep with Mrs. Corinthos will just have to wait.”  
  
Without reacting, Nikolas noticed his son's nanny enter the room and usher Michael away. “Carly and Sonny are divorced. He's married to my aunt now.”  
  
“Yes, and I've heard about just how precious dear old Aunt Alexis is to you,” Anthony said cryptically. “As for that marriage, Corinthos just married her to be his brood mare. As soon as she has the brat, he'll find a reason to convince himself to leave her, and he'll fall back into bed with Bimbo Blondie from a box here. Cheap, weak whores always seek out others of their same ilk eventually. Trust me, I should know. I married a woman like Mrs. Corinthos once. She's dead now.”  
  
Nikolas didn't even look at Carly as he ordered, “do as he says. Leave. Michael can stay here tonight, but you need to go.”  
  
“I'm not going anywhere! You don't need to listen to him, and I sure as hell won't. The man's insane – crazy, Sonny always said.”  
  
“Which, if you were smart, would be reason enough to run away, little girl,” Anthony taunted.  
  
Before she could respond, Nikolas yelled, “Carly, go!” He waited until she stomped her way out of his study, the door slamming petulantly behind her, before readdressing his business adversary. “Alright, you got what you wanted. We're alone now. What is all this about, Anthony?”  
  
“It's about you threatening my lawyer's secretary. Because of our partnership, I've put up with a lot from you. You ignored a meeting between us, and I did not send a man to cut off your son's pinky. You compromise our plans by sleeping with the loosest woman in Port Charles, the very same woman who just so happens to be Corinthos' favorite tool for self-destruction, and I did not send a man to cut off your own favorite tool. But insult my lawyer by threatening one of her own?” The older man shook his head in chastisement. “I'm disappointed, _Nikolas_.”  
  
“Spinelli was personal. It has nothing to do with our deal,” he defended himself.  
  
“Spinelli, as you call him, is important to my attorney, and, when she's unhappy, I'm unhappy.” Smiling, Anthony concluded, “back the hell off or next time I'll send a man to cut your back out for you, and then I'll keep your spine intact and wear it as a scarf.”  
  
As the aged yet certainly not incompetent mob boss disappeared, using the tunnels once more, he left with a jaunty tune whistling forth from his thin lips. Nikolas shivered.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

“Why are we parked outside of a bowling alley?”  
  
Jax chuckled, juggled his keys. “Because you haven't gotten out of the car yet.” Then, not waiting for Alexis to respond, he opened his door, shut it, and then strode around to open hers.  
  
“Is this some kind of joke?”  
  
“If so, then it's on the both of us.”  
  
Although she stood, she refused to let go of the car and remained standing there, the dome light inside attracting all sorts of tiny, annoying insects. Finally, after several moments of private thought, she asked, “are we touring the property? Is this just your latest investment – from bowling alley to classy strip mall?”  
  
“Strip malls are never classy and no. We're here to spend some time with friends, to eat greasy pizza, and to play a few rounds.”  
  
“Friends? I don't have friends,” Alexis protested. “I have a friend – you, and you know me well enough to realize I don't go bowling.”  
  
Laughing again, he gently pried her fingers from the car door, shut it, and then, by her shoulders, steered her towards the front entrance. He wasn't sure if pregnancy made her even more obdurate or if the previous physical distance between them had helped him forget just how stubborn his ex-wife was. Deciding, though, to put her out of her misery, Jax explained, “we're meeting Robin, Maxie, and Robin's daughter, Cate.”  
  
“They're back in town, too?”  
  
“As of a few days ago,” he supplied. “In fact, Robin and I finalized our plans to move back during dinner together.”  
  
She paused just inside of the building, turning to look at him, her eyebrows wiggling away. “Are you two... you know?”  
  
“It's called dating, Alexis, and you better get over your fear of that word before your son or daughter becomes a teenager.”  
  
“My _daughter –_ I don't even want to imagine what it would be like to have another male version of Sonny around to deal with – will have an alleged, Catholic mobster for a father. I think my fear of relationships will not be challenged anytime soon.” As she then went to glance around them, she noticed the dark lighting, ground hovering fog, and strobe lights. “I've died and gone to hell. All we need now is Helena to make the torture complete.”  
  
“It's cosmic bowling,” he informed her patiently. “You're going to like it.”  
  
“That's what somebody told me before they had me try low fat, low sodium popcorn, too. They're ominous words, Jax. Besides,” she moved on, once more finding a new topic before they could completely conclude the previous one. “Don't you think it's kind of late for a little girl to be out? How old is Robin's daughter anyway? And this better not be an elaborate machination on your part to get me to spend time with a child before the baby's born. I'm already scared of labor; don't make me fear the next eighteen years or so as well.”  
  
“Cate's four. She'll be five this fall, and, between switching time zones and jet lag, her schedule is all mixed up. Plus, she has Maxie Jones for a nanny. I highly doubt that she's ever had a stable bedtime in her life. As for your parental fears....” Once more, he started to direct her towards their waiting companions. “I can't help you there, but this isn't a trick. I wanted to spend time with Robin, thought that some adult company away from bodyguards and bulletproof glass would be good for you, and Cate is just a part of Robin's package.”  
  
“And Maxie?”  
  
“Oh, she's here more for you,” he answered. Jax had just spotted the three girls they were meeting. They had claimed a more secluded bowling lane on the far side of the building, and he was thankful for the relative privacy the choice would afford them. “She doesn't like quaint American past times either. I thought that the two of you could sit together and ridicule the rest of us.”  
  
Dotingly, Alexis, after pausing their progress, reached up and patted his cheek. “Ah, you do know me. Now, you mentioned greasy pizza...?”  
  
“You had dinner two hours ago with Diane Miller and dessert with me after that.”  
  
“Greasy pizza isn't a meal when you're pregnant; it's a recreational drug.”  
  
Rolling his eyes, he asked, “and it doesn't hurt its case that Sonny would blow a gasket if he knew you were eating the junk?”  
  
“Makes the buzz even sweeter.”  
  
“Just let me get you situated, and I'll go and buy you a whole....” Jax's words trailed away as they finally got close enough to hear Robin and Maxie's conversation. Cate was distracted, off playing with a bag full of dolls and their numerous changeable outfits.  
  
“... At least we'll be on opposite sides of the hospital, right? Besides, how often will a neurosurgeon have to consult with an HIV/AIDS Research Specialist? As long as I'm careful – avoid hospital charity functions and stick to my own office, then I should never have to see that... that....”  
  
“Bastard again,” his ex-wife supplied.  
  
“Alexis,” he warned affectionately.  
  
“What,” she defended. “I didn't swear, and I didn't reference an inappropriate body part either.”  
  
“You still shouldn't say that in front of a child,” Jax explained.  
  
“Fine, then. He's a....”  
  
This time it was Cate to supply the insult. “A Beavis or a Butthead,” the precocious four year old filled in. “Which do you think, Mother?”  
  
With a wary glance towards her nanny, Robin asked, “what's the difference, honey?”  
  
“Well, one has blonde hair like me, and one has brown hair like you. Duh.”  
  
Before the young mother could either reprimand her child or her childcare giver, Maxie remarked, “whatever he is, if you hide away in your office, you'll be a born-again virgin someday. Saint Robin strikes again.”  
  
While helping Alexis sit down, Jax asked, “you're talking about Patrick Drake, aren't you?”  
  
“So, you've met him, too? Why did you and the other board members allow Alan to hire such a rude, chauvinist pig?”  
  
Despite his best efforts, he couldn't completely hide his amusement at his friend's words. “I haven't met him. In fact, only Alan has, but his resume was impeccable, and we need some new, young doctors... like yourself... at GH. I knew who you were talking about because you mentioned the fact that the man who you can't stop thinking about, can't stop obsessing over, is a neurosurgeon.”  
  
“It's not like that,” Robin defended. “Not at all. Just wait. You'll see. When you meet him, you'll immediately hate him.”  
  
“I give it three weeks, a month if you're stronger than I was, before you're making out like teenagers with this guy in the elevator,” Alexis announced.  
  
While Robin huffed and stewed, Maxie cheered. “Finally! Someone around here with a little sexual insight and common sense.”  
  
“Well, I wouldn't go that far. After all, I did allow Sonny Corinthos of all men to knock me up.”  
  
Maxie waved off Alexis' self-derisive words. “That man has super sperm. Everyone knows it. Plus, I think the dimples, when employed properly, emit some sort of panty-relaxer. The underwear just drop off when he smiles no matter what defenses a woman might possess.”  
  
“Only for some women. I know of a couple who are immune.”  
  
Doubtfully, the younger woman demanded, “really? Who? Name one woman who can resist Sonny Corinthos' charm? Hell, I've seen Lila Quartermaine practically simper in his presence.”  
  
“Well, Diane Miller actually,” Alexis answered quickly and easily.  
  
Excitedly, Maxie clapped. “Oh, I met her tonight. She noticed my shoes, loved them, and asked me to make her a pair.”  
  
The humor fled from his ex-wife's features. Soberly, she commented, “I know.”  
  
“And that, ladies, would be my cue to go and get the pizza.” Before they could respond, Jax slipped away, heading towards the front of the establishment where the small, in-store restaurant was located. He figured that, while he was gone, the three of them could get their girl-talk out of the way, and, by the time he returned, they'd be ready to eat and play. Besides, while he loved Alexis and loved spending as much time with her as he could, he knew that she needed some female companionship as well... whether she realized that fact herself or not. Years before, she had had Chloe, but, since the fashion designer's death, Alexis had not attempted to befriend anyone else, anyone new.  
  
Ten minutes later, he drop a steaming hot, large, pepperoni pizza onto the table behind their lane, arriving back just in time to enter a discussion about the baby. “So, Alexis,” Robin questioned, “when are you due?”  
  
“I don't know. What's the usual gestational period for a rhinoceros?”  
  
All three women laughed, and Jax slid into the seat beside his best friend. Taking her hand and clutching it in his own, he squeezed before answering, “in about a month and a half.” Addressing his ex-wife, he added, “and you look wonderful – healthy, happy....”  
  
“If you say glowing, I'll punch you in the face,” Alexis threatened.  
  
He remained quiet; Robin resumed her interrogation. “Boy or girl?”  
  
“Girl.”  
  
“But she doesn't actually know for sure,” he corrected her unwavering statement. “Alexis just has a gut feeling.”  
  
“I have a gut if nothing else,” the attorney quipped. “Don't know about a feeling, though. In fact, if I'm currently experiencing some sensation other than swollen, sore feet and a painful back, I'm unaware of it.”  
  
“Oh, quit your complaining,” he teased her, standing up and pulling her by both arms after him. Once more steering her, he placed her in front of their selected bowling balls. “Play a round, and I'll run you a bubble bath before I leave for the night later; play two, and you can have a back massage as well.”  
  
As Alexis picked out the lightest ball, holding it against her protruding belly, Maxie cleared her throat. Once they both turned to look at the younger woman, she said, “I thought you claim Sonny as your baby daddy.”  
  
“I do; he is,” Jax's ex-wife answered.  
  
Maxie and Robin exchanged matching, knowing glances. The younger woman persisted. “ _Really?_ ”  
  
“Of course. You don't think I'd marry him for any other reason, do you?”  
  
“Don't ask me,” the blonde, budding fashionista exclaimed, holding up her hands in self-defense. “There's nothing that would get me to marry someone, not even a bun in the oven. All I'm saying is that you and Jax seem pretty tight. I mean, you're here tonight with him instead of at home with Sonny... your husband. Jax knows more about your pregnancy than you do. It's just... he acts like your baby's father.”  
  
“Oh, well, we were once married, too, you know,” he supplied in explanation. “Platonically, of course.”  
  
“And now,” Alexis added, “we're best friends.”  
  
Another shared glance between the cousins Scorpio-Jones before Robin teased, “with benefits, perhaps?”  
  
Open mouthed, Alexis stared at the doctor before Jax visibly noticed her electing to ignore Robin as she, instead, focused her attention – and wrath – upon him. Narrowing her eyes into a glare and pivoting rapidly, she changed the subject and asked, “just how the hell am I supposed to earn my bubble bath and back rub if I can't see my feet let alone bend over far enough to throw this ball down the lane?”  
  
“You don't throw bowling balls,” he informed her with amusement. “You roll them.”  
  
“Still going to have the same problem.”  
  
“Use the kiddie method,” Maxie instructed. “Wait,” she then added. “Cate will demonstrate for you.”  
  
Obligingly, the four year old left her toys and came forward, and all four of the adults stood and watched as she sat down with Alexis' bowling ball, put the heavy ball in front of her, moved to kneel, and then pushed the ball down the lane. It moved slowly but straight, and, when it eventually struck the pins, all of them fell.  
  
“I can do that,” Alexis announced.  
  
So, she did. With Jax's help, she sat down, positioned her bowling ball, moved up to sit on her knees, and then let the ball go with a gentle shove. Although she didn't do as well as the toddler, she also didn't hurt herself. He considered the feat a victory all around. After her second attempt, he helped her to stand back up. While doing so, Jax said, “see, I told you this would be fun,” only to have his custom made bowling shoes suddenly become damp.  
  
Looking up, he met Alexis' panicked gaze. She was the first to speak. “Oh shit.”  
  
“Actually, it's leaking amniotic fluid, but it's still gross,” Maxie replied.  
  
“Not helping,” Jax bit out, impatient.  
  
But then Alexis laughed, and she continued to do so all the way out of the building and to his car. Before exiting, though, she yelled back for Robin, “don't forget my pizza!”  
  
He was about to tell her that she couldn't eat it until after she gave birth, that, by that time, it wouldn't be nearly as appetizing, but then her first contraction took hold, and Alexis dug her nails into his arms which were supporting her, and all rational thought fled Jax's mind.  
  
Alexis was about to have a baby, he was about to become a mother, and, as her continual laughter rang in his ears, he was pretty sure that she was in the process of losing her mind. As for him, well... he was about to become... a something. And Sonny Corinthos, big surprise, was nowhere in sight.

} ~ {

As the three of them – Nadine, her brother, and her daughter – all finished up the last few bites of their hot fudge sundaes, it was Damien who sighed in satisfied repletion first. His sweet tooth momentarily sated, he then delved immediately into conversation. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this late night to? Aren't the two of you normally lost in the Land of Nod by seven o'clock?”  
  
“Haha, very funny,” Nadine pretended to laugh, smiling affectionately towards her only sibling. “We're not that lame.”  
  
“Close enough.”  
  
“Well, we all can't be foot-loose and fancy free college students like you... or stay up for days without sleep because of orange soda and barbeque potato chips.”  
  
Although she tried to joke, to make light of her brother's question, he didn't grin in response to her teasing or allow his concern to be pushed aside. Soberly, he asked, “what's going on?”  
  
Holding up a solitary finger – the universally accepted sign of asking someone to give you a minute, Nadine dug through her purse for a quarter, found one, and then gave it to her daughter. “Go ahead over and pick a song on the jukebox,” she told her little girl. Laura happily obliged, grinning, but Nadine knew the distraction would only keep the four year old busy for a few minutes. She and Damien would have to talk fast.  
  
Once they were alone, she said, “Alexis and I had a meeting this morning with Nikolas and his attorney.”  
  
“And... did you nail the Pompous Prince's backside to the wall?”  
  
“I brought up the fact that I'm aware of his affair with Carly Corinthos, but, before Alexis and I could fully use our ace in the hole to negotiate for custody of both kids, Nikolas played his own impressive cards.”  
  
“Unless we're talking about Magic the Gathering cards, I'm afraid I won't understand your references.”  
  
Sighing and leveling her most serious expression upon her younger brother, Nadine confided, “he threatened you, Damien – your life.”  
  
Immediately, he dismissed her concern. “Oh, I'll be fine. Remember, the Jackal took that self-defense course at PCU last fall.”  
  
“And ended up quitting because you got an ingrown toenail.”  
  
“You know, I've heard those are more painful than giving birth,” Damien said somberly.  
  
She ignored him. “My point is that, prepared or not for a normal, run of the mill attack, you're not prepared to face Nikolas. He has means beyond the imagination, including yours. I know that, and so does Alexis, because, as soon as he threatened you, she ended the meeting and called Diane.”  
  
“As in my employer, the Brusque Lady of Justice,” he inquired, surprised. “Why would the Mini Mob Boss' Moll do that?”  
  
“Because she was worried about you, too, and she felt that Diane would know something... or someone who could keep you safe.”  
  
“And, so, this is why you asked me to meet you at Kelly's for a hot fudge sundae,” Damien surmised, “to warn me?”  
  
“Yes, partly,” she admitted, “but I also wanted to see you, to spend some time with you. Laura and I always want to do that, and I felt that we needed a break from all the heaviness of the divorce, too. I had to work late because of my meeting this morning, but the late bedtime is worth it.”  
  
Distractedly, her only sibling reached for anything available to occupy his hand and mind if only temporarily. He came away with his niece's almost empty ice cream dish and immediately started to eat it. Before Nadine could point this out to him and protest on her daughter's behalf, Laura reappeared. “Uncle Spin, you're eating my sundae!”  
  
Instantly apologetic and dismayed at his own behavior, he softly remarked, “ah, yes, so it would seem, La Petit Princess Squirt.” As Nadine was observing her brother, though, in the next moment, she witnessed his dismay flee to be replaced by smug satisfaction. “However, do you see that handsome man who just walked in the door,” he asked her little girl. “Well, I do believe that, if we tell him of your current predicament, he will buy you another brand new hot fudge sundae.”  
  
“Damien, don't tell her that,” Nadine protested. “We don't even know....” But the young computer genius was already standing and approaching the new arrival, and, with barely restrained mortification, she watched as her only sibling, apparently, set her up.  
  
“Greetings to you on this fair, May evening, Mr. John,” her brother bowed exaggeratedly gracious at the other man's feet.  
  
“Spinelli, what are you doing? You've known me for years. How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to treat me any differently than you would anyone else? Enough with the formality already.”  
  
“It is my way of showing you the respect a man of your position and reputation deserves,” Damien fairly simpered. “But allow us to shelve this discussion for a later date. For now, I'd like to introduce you to my lovely, soon-to-be divorced sister and her daughter. Fair Nurse Nadine and La Petit Princess Squirt, this is my most esteemed employer's favorite client, Mr. John.”  
  
“Please,” the other man said, smiling. “It's just John... or Johnny. Whichever you prefer.”  
  
She found herself returning his grin. Despite her brother's odd behavior, she just couldn't help herself. Damien's friend was just too handsome, too friendly, and his eyes far too kind for her not to react positively. “And I'm just Nadine, and my daughter's name is Laura.” He nodded in acceptance.  
  
The moment was broken, though, by her only living family member – besides her children – yawning loudly, rudely, and quite pointedly. It was obviously a fake gesture, and Nadine was just thankful Damien was not interested in acting. “Oh, would you look at the time. I'm exhausted,” he announced.  
  
“Another hard day of hanging up Diane's coat and gossiping,” Johnny said knowingly.  
  
Not rising to the bait, her brother apologized, “I'd hate to do this to you, beloved sister of mine, but I'm afraid I'm wiped, too tired, in fact, to walk you home. But maybe Mr. John would be so kind as to fill my unworthy, deficient....”  
  
“Scuffed shoes,” the older man offered, teasingly. “Sure. I'd be honored to walk you and your daughter home, Nadine,” he then added, turning to address her.  
  
Before she could even respond – hell, before she could even blink, Damien was out the door, his chest puffed up to crowing proportions. He apparently felt extremely self-satisfied. “I'm really sorry about that – about my brother's behavior,” she said as she stood up and prepared Laura to leave. “Damien's never been... subtle, but, really, you don't have to walk us home. We don't live too far from here, and the streets are well lit. It's a beautiful night out, and, if Laura gets tired, I'll just hail a cab. Do not feel as though you are obligated to see us home safely, because you're not, I assure you.”  
  
“Are you finished,” he asked her. Though his words were hard, his eyes were soft. Nadine nodded. “I meant what I said. It would be my pleasure to walk you and your daughter home.”  
  
“Alright then,” she agreed, blushing in pleasure. “Just give us a minute to get ready and we'll be on our way.” As she slipped her little girl's coat on – despite the fact that it had been a warm spring, she was a responsible parent and a nurse, so she knew better than to allow Laura to go out late at night without at least a light windbreaker on, Nadine surreptitiously watched Johnny out of the corner of her eyes. He left them alone momentarily to approach the counter, and, when he returned, he was laden down with three covered cups.  
  
“I know you already had hot fudge sundaes, but I've heard a rumor that some women believe there can never be too much chocolate in life. This is hot chocolate,” he told them as he handed both of them their cups, “so I hope the two of you fit into that category.”  
  
“You've known us for five minutes, but you're already off to a good start. Just let me pay our bill, and we'll....”  
  
“It's taken care of,” he told her offhandedly, cutting off her words.  
  
Her protest had not yet even formed entirely before Nadine found herself outside in Kelly's courtyard, happily sipping her hot cocoa. With one hand, she held her cup, and, with the other, she held onto her little girl. Beside her, Johnny walked slowly, accommodating his own much longer strides to fit her daughter's. For several minutes they walked in companionable yet still awkward silence until, finally, he broke the stillness by requesting, “tell me about your daughter.”  
  
“Oh, come on, you don't want to hear me ramble on about my four year old. You're not even a parent yourself, are you, so you'll just think I'm ridiculous?”  
  
“You're not, and I won't, and, yes, I really do want to hear you ramble. Don't take this the wrong way, but I find the sound of your voice soothing.”  
  
“Well, that's certainly not something I've heard before,” Nadine admitted, giggling.  
  
“Plus, I've never really been around kids much, so I find them... fascinating, I guess you could say,” Johnny added. “So, please, talk to me about your daughter.”  
  
“You twisted my arm,” she joked. “I won't make you ask me three times.”  
  
And so they walked – slowly, leisurely, and then eventually in circles so that the night would not end. Eventually, Laura got tired, and Johnny insisted upon carrying her the rest of the way so that Nadine wouldn't have to. And they talked, too, just as he asked, but not just about her daughter. She told him about herself, about her divorce, about growing up with her brother and being raised by her Aunt Rayleen, and he told her about playing the piano, his various trips around the world, and about the mother he had lost at such a young age.  
  
It was the best first non-date of Nadine's life, and she found it scarier than any threat against her brother's life could ever be.

} ~ {

In no mood to deal with his pacifying guards and their concerned glances, Sonny had sent all his men away, leaving him unprotected and his door open for anyone to approach, but he wasn't concerned. His only major adversary was also his partner as long as his deal with Anthony Zacchara wasn't broken, and, with Jason home, at least temporarily, the five families were cowed enough not to even think about challenging Sonny for control of the waterways. So, unworried about his safety, he sat alone in the dark of his penthouse, drinking. No longer could he even taste the liquor he consumed, but he knew that, if he stopped, so would the rage, and he couldn't handle the pain that would come afterwards, at least not yet.  
  
When the door opened behind him, he didn't even glance to see who was there. “Get the hell out.”  
  
“If I didn't know you better, I'd take that personally, Sonny,” Carly replied. By the crunching sound of her shoes stepping over the broken glassware strewn across the floor, he knew that she wasn't leaving. “I see you're up to your old tricks. What happened? Did Alexis hurt your feelings?”  
  
Ignoring her barbs, he asked, “shouldn't you be off fucking Nikolas Cassadine?”  
  
But Carly didn't react. “So, you know about that, huh? I didn't think you cared enough anymore to have my every move reported back to you.”  
  
“I don't, but the guards seemed to think that I needed to know what you've been up to.”  
  
“Well, if nothing else, at least your men are loyal even if you aren't,” she taunted.  
  
Sonny snorted. “You're one to talk. If you wanted loyalty from me, Carly, you should have saved us both the time and found yourself a dog.”  
  
“And, what, you thought you'd find loyalty with the bastard daughter of Mikkos Cassadine? Looks like we were both played for fools, Sonny.”  
  
“Wouldn't be the first time,” he said, draining his glass of scotch before allowing it to drop from his fingers and shattered against the floor. “What do you want, Carly?”  
  
“I want you to answer for your mistakes. You promised me that you'd taken care of the Jason and Elizabeth Webber situation.”  
  
“I did; I have,” he protested, sitting up straight in his chair.  
  
“Oh, really, so then why did I find him living in her old studio again?”  
  
“So, that's where he's been hiding out,” Sonny mused thoughtfully. “Well, it makes sense defensively because of the view of the warehouse and the harbor that it offers, and Elizabeth Webber hasn't set foot in that building let alone Port Charles in more than five years.”  
  
“I don't care what you say, he's not over that little twit,” Carly challenged, moving to pour herself a drink from his nearly destroyed wet bar. After taking several hasty gulps of the whiskey she had poured herself, she rounded on him and yelled, “if the muffin didn't mean anything to him anymore, then he still wouldn't be paying for a studio he shared with her. You should have just had that place demolished years ago.”  
  
“Yes, because that wouldn't have been suspicious at all,” he remarked dryly. “Look, I don't know what more you want me to do. When we found out that Elizabeth was....”  
  
“Do not even say the word,” she threatened him darkly. “It still makes me sick to think about them all these years later. I can't handle you dredging up things better left forgotten.”  
  
“You were the one who came charging in here, Carly, spoiling for a fight; you are the one who keeps hunting me down to threaten me about this whole mess. If you let it die, it will.”  
  
She sauntered closer to him, following his example and tossing her own glass down to break against the floor. “If you weren't such a coward, then that's exactly what you would have done years ago.”  
  
Standing to match her glare, he advanced towards her. “You're not my wife any more, Carlybabes. I'd watch that mouth of yours if I were you.”  
  
Still, she pressed on, undaunted. “I knew that as long as Elizabeth remained in his life that Jason would never be free. He'd rather tie himself down to some little girl than do his job, be your partner, be my best friend. I eventually convinced you of this as well, and we agreed that something had to be done. If we wanted Jason to remain focused and to keep our family safe – Sorel wasn't backing down, and we were both afraid that Michael would get caught in the crosshairs, he couldn't be distracted. So, you sent Elizabeth Webber away, and you made sure that, if she ever returned, Jason wouldn't want her again... or so you promised me, but, guess what, Sonny, you were wrong. I'd bet my life on the fact that Jason's off now chasing after his little milk maid. If you would have done what you should have in the first place and just killed that annoying bitch, none of this would be happening now.”  
  
Smiling cruelly, Sonny laughed. “Oh, so that's what this is about. You finally found out where Jason was staying, but he wouldn't give you the time of day, am I right?” Without waiting for her to respond, he continued. “You followed him, wore your trashiest outfit, and, knowing you, probably brought Michael along in the hopes of guilting Jason into spending some time with you, but he didn't fall for your games. Well, all I have to say is that it's about damn time he kicked your skanky ass to the curb.”  
  
He watched, still amused, as Carly lifted a hand to slap him, but, before her palm could make contact with his cheek, he grabbed her wrist painfully and squeezed. “I wouldn't do that if I were you, sweetheart.”  
  
“Why not? What are you going to do to me if I do hit you? Hit me back just like Deke hit your mother, become the same as the man you've always hated?”  
  
In that moment, he was sorely tempted to punch Carly in her ungrateful, disgusting mouth, but, at the same time, boiling underneath his rage towards his ex-wife, there was also his anger towards Alexis and Jax, his jealousy towards their closeness, and his feeling of impotency when it came to his latest doomed relationship. So, instead of following his sudden urge, he fell back onto an old and reliable means of shutting Carly up.  
  
He kissed her.  
  
Without waiting for permission, without allowing her a chance to adjust to his attack, he bit her bottom lip and forced his tongue's way into her mouth. With hasty, bruising hands, he ripped her flimsy clothes off and unbuckled his own pants in a matter of minutes. Shoving her down, he half collapsed, half fell on top of her. Seconds later, he entered her savagely, and she screamed in part pain and part bliss. And, as they rutted like the animals they were together on the floor of his penthouse among the destruction and desolation of the darkness that lived inside of him, Sonny never heard his cell phone vibrating from where it perched on top of the folders that were scattered upon his desk.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

HIV, at times, could be an exhausting disease. Although Robin's regiment of drugs had, given time, been nearly perfected, leaving her viral count practically non-existent, there had been a time when she struggled, when each day it had been a chore to get up out of bed. Now, though, she wasn't even sure if she would make it home.  
  
After Alexis had gone into early labor the night before, she, Maxie, and Cate had followed their friends to the hospital where, successfully, Doctor Meadows and her staff had endeavored to curtail baby Davis-Corinthos' entrance into the world. Although she didn't know details, something they had done had worked, and, at a little after five that morning, mother and daughter – it had been discovered that the baby was a girl just as Alexis had predicted... or perhaps willed – had been pronounced out of the woods.  
  
Several times during the course of the night, she had been tempted to take her daughter and go back to their hotel, but Robin had sensed that, whether they would ask for her help or not, both Jax and Alexis wanted somebody who cared about them there, for different reasons, though. It had seemed as though Jax had just wanted another person there to recognize the occasion, to observe it, while Alexis, whose life had never been simple or easy, had needed someone there just in case something went wrong, not for herself necessarily but for her best friend. If she or the baby would have died, Jax would have needed someone there to offer him comfort and support.  
  
Plus, someone needed to be there in order to keep trying Sonny. For hours, Robin had called him. It didn't matter, though, what number she tried – his cell phone, the penthouse, even the guards weren't picking up, she never once succeeded in reaching Alexis' husband, the man who, at one point, had been more like a father figure to her than even her Uncle Mac. Although she and Sonny had lost contact with one another over the years, she still had fond memories of him and believed that he deserved to be present during such a crisis in his unborn daughter's life. Once both Alexis and child, though, were safely out of the woods, she had given up.  
  
That had been a couple hours before. Since Alexis' emergency, she had been attending to the expectant mother's and the expectant mother's best friend's needs – making other phone calls for them, getting them breakfast, and helping them dodge the nurses so that they could get some rest. Although taking care of a newborn Cate had been beyond terrifying and tiring, Robin now realized, simply by observing, that nothing was more draining than labor... even postponed, premature labor.  
  
While she had pushed through her sleepiness – ignoring both her ravenous appetite and the bodily discomforts of spending an entire night in one's dirty clothes from the day before, Maxie and Cate had slept, were still sleeping in fact. Curled up together on one of the couches in the maternity wing's waiting room, they had missed Baby Davis-Corinthos' close call and, knowing the two of them, didn't lament the fact either. They had not been pleased with her decision to follow Jax and Alexis to the hospital but had dutifully fallen into step behind her, in all likelihood simply because Maxie had not wanted to spend her own money on cab fare.  
  
And, now, despite the fact that she was leaving the hospital, Robin still wasn't going to get the opportunity of rest that she so craved. Rather, with Alexis' keys dangling in her hands, she was headed to Harborview Towers in order to pack the attorney a small bag of necessities – her own pajamas, an outfit to leave the hospital in the next day, and several case files despite Jax's adamant objections. While she was there, she'd glance at Sonny's door, see if perhaps the guard on duty could give her any information about how she could locate the expectant father, but she certainly wasn't going to go out of her way for the mob boss. In her opinion, if he truly cared, he would have been worried enough to search out his wife when she didn't return home the night before.  
  
Then, before returning to the hospital, she planned to make a quick stop back at her hotel room to shower and change before swinging by Kelly's to pick up large coffees and some fresh pastries. Although Jax and Alexis had been desperate enough to consume what the hospital passed off as java and donuts, she hadn't... at least not yet. Before long, though, Robin had a feeling even the hospital's disgusting wares would start to look appetizing once she was working there. If nothing else could be said about doctors, their stomachs learned to adapt quickly, and they eventually became immune to swill.  
  
She still had a small, self-indulgent smile curling up the corners of her lips when she boarded the elevator, though she was too tired to see or care if anyone else was sharing the lift with her. Turning her back so that she was once more facing the doors, Robin pressed the corresponding button for the lobby and allowed her drooping lids to fall closed if only for just a second while she awaited her arrival to the floor of her choice. The fleeting moment became even shorter, though, when someone behind her tentatively murmured a name, the whisper an obvious question of identity. “Elizabeth?”  
  
Without moving her feet, Robin glanced over her shoulder. Given what the older woman had said, she wasn't surprised to find Audrey Hardy standing behind her. “Oh, Miss Scorpio, it's you. I didn't... I thought... when did you get back in town?”  
  
“Just a few days ago.” Thoughtfully, she added, “I didn't realize your granddaughter and I looked so much alike?”  
  
“You don't, not really, but it's been so long since I've seen Elizabeth, and I only looked up in time to see you from behind, so, for a moment, I thought....”  
  
“Wishful thinking,” Robin replied, releasing the elderly nurse from her duties of explanation. “I get it. While the situation's different, I still see Stone sometimes, too”  
  
“That makes sense.”  
  
Now that they were talking, Robin's exhausted mind struggled to continue the conversation. Instead of really thinking about her words, though, she simply said what first came to mind. “I never really knew Elizabeth that well when I lived here before. I know she helped with the Nurses' Ball, and she dated Lucky Spencer before he died, right?”  
  
Awkwardly, Audrey shifted her stance, fidgeting, but never actually moved. “Yes, she did.” Laughing ruefully, she continued, “looking back, I can't believe how hard I at first fought their relationship. Given what happened to Elizabeth after his death, Lucky was the best thing for her... and safe.”  
  
“A Spencer safe?” Without meaning to offend the older woman, she laughed. “I highly doubt that.”  
  
“Well, compared to Elizabeth dating your ex – Jason Morgan, Lucky was good for her. At least being with him didn't cause her to run away. That... that thug, first, after everything he put you through because of that awful woman Carly, chased you out of town, and then he did the same thing to my granddaughter.”  
  
They were almost to the ground floor, but, before Robin could walk away from Audrey, she had to clear the air and defend Jason. They were by no means still close. In fact, she hadn't seen or spoken to him since she left town all those years ago, but she would always hold a small part of him in her heart. He had been exactly what she had needed after Stone died. He had meant so much to her, and a breakup, even one as complicated as theirs, wasn't enough to completely destroy all her feelings for him.  
  
“Mrs. Hardy, I went to Paris to go to school. My family supported my decision. I wasn't running away, and Jason certainly didn't chase me anywhere. When we were together, I loved him, and he loved me. We didn't break up because those feelings disappeared. Sometimes, a relationship just runs its course, and two people grow apart or end up needing different things. My guess as to why Elizabeth left town? I don't know what happened during her relationship with Jason, but I would bet money that she didn't run away because of him; I would bet money that she left because, unlike my Uncle Mac and cousins, her family did not accept her or her decisions.”  
  
Allowing a few moments for her words to sink in, Robin added, “have a good day, Mrs. Hardy,” before moving so that she faced the elevator doors again. Within seconds, the lift's bell chimed their arrival, and she stepped off, walking away with her back straight and her head up, her fatigue suddenly not so incapacitating. It was amazing what a little confrontation could do to one's energy level.

} ~ {

Diane Miller, despite her ambition, despite her drive, and despite her impeccable taste in bathrobes and slippers, was not a morning person. In fact, she didn't feel quite capable of functioning until she had at least three cups of coffee percolating through her system. That's why she found Mr. Grasshopper so essential. Not only was he already privy to the oddities of her personality, but he was good at anticipating her needs. Like his name implied, he hopped around at an alarmingly perky speed, seeing to her every wish and desire before she was even fully aware of them herself half the time. If she didn't pay him so well, she'd think that she was taking advantage of him.  
  
So, it was with great reluctance that she rolled and slithered her way out of bed that morning at ten after seven. Technically, her office didn't open until nine, so that meant that she usually strolled in at about ten thirty, leaving her with two more hours of sleep to enjoy if there wasn't somebody currently harassing her doorbell. Whoever it was that was disturbing her beauty rest, she hoped that they were prepared to have their bangers mashed, their eggs scrambled, their toast frenched.  
  
Okay, so maybe that last one didn't come out right.  
  
After years of working for Anthony Zacchara, she should have known better, but, in her haste to get back to bed and the dream she had been having of a sexy foot massage therapist, Diane wrenched her front door open, totally ignoring such common sense safety precautions as using her peephole and leaving the chain on the door. “Someone better be dying or getting arrested, because otherwise....”  
  
Her threat was interrupted by a smile and a box being thrust into her hands. “Shoes,” Johnny offered hopefully. With a withering glare that lasted several moments, she finally relented and peered into the shoe box. As she did so, he said, “there's also gourmet coffee and still hot from the oven danishes where that came from if you let me in.”  
  
The shoes _were_ quite impressive. In fact, calling them shoes didn't quite give the works of art proper credit. They were the latest Jimmy Choo's – expensive, nude studded sandals with four inch stiletto heels. The beauties reminded her of a web of gorgeousness that could be wrapped around her foot. They were perfect for summer, perfect for her coloring, and perfect for her collection, and John Zacchara knew that only too well. The little piss-ant was fully aware of her addiction to designer shoes and had used that magnificently to his advantage.  
  
Maybe that round's point had gone to him, but their set wasn't over yet, though.  
  
“I'm not dressed,” she warned him. Not that she'd take advantage of her boss' son, though that certainly didn't mean that Johnny wasn't nearly as delicious as the sandals he had just brought her, but she didn't want either of them to be uncomfortable around each other. She genuinely liked the kid, they got along well, and, someday, if Anthony got his way and he very rarely didn't, Johnny would be the head of the Zacchara empire and her next employer.  
  
He laughed, however, already entering her luxury apartment. “I promise to leave your virtue intact.”  
  
“Please don't,” Diane quipped. As they both chuckled together companionably, they moved into what she called her small morning room. There, with a near panoramic view of the city, the early morning's light was so bright, artificial illumination was not necessary. She often did work at the small table or had breakfast there on the weekends. Once they were both seated, she said, “so, I doubt this near dawn disturbance was simply you feeling the urge to treat me to a pair of new stilettos.”  
  
“Not that you don't deserve a pretty present or two, but no,” Johnny admitted. “That's not why I'm here.”  
  
And that's why she liked him so much more than his father. Unlike Anthony who was just mad, Johnny had mad skills. The kid could banter and sweet talk even the sourest of old ladies, and she was neither sour nor old... even without her proper amount of sleep or her mask of makeup firmly in place. “I thought not, so why don't you cut to the chase while I cut into my apple fritter. What's up?”  
  
“I want you to help me send Nikolas Cassadine to prison.”  
  
Nearly choking on her extremely hot and delicious coffee, Diane gasped, “wow. You don't pull any punches, do you? Care to run that by me again, this time slower and with a little more explanation on the side. I wasn't aware that you even knew Nikolas Cassadine.”  
  
“I know of him - everyone in Port Charles does, and I know that my father is in league with him against Sonny Corinthos.”  
  
“Reason enough there for me to pretend this conversation never happened,” she stated seriously. “But, since we've already traveled this far down this dangerous road, proceed, but, please, do so with caution.”  
  
Meeting her gaze directly, Johnny admitted, “I have feelings for his wife.”  
  
“Oh this just keeps getting better and better,” the attorney grumbled under her breath.  
  
Ignoring her interruption, he pressed on. “Last night, I went into Kelly's to get a cup of coffee. Spinelli was there, your secretary....”  
  
“Yes, I'm fully aware of who my employee is, Johnny. Quit stalling.”  
  
“Anyway, he introduced us, played obvious matchmaker, and then I walked her home.”  
  
“Obvious or not, if you're already smitten after just one walk – and through Port Charles' streets no less, a town not known for his romantic ambiance to say the least, I'd say that my Mr. Grasshopper's matchmaking abilities are even more impressive than his hacking skills.” Coughing discreetly, she added, “hypothetically speaking, of course.”  
  
“Well, I... that is... you see... well, to be frank, it wasn't the first time I'd noticed her; it was just the first time that she noticed me.”  
  
“Please, don't tell me you've been stalking that poor girl,” Diane warned him. “That's the last thing she needs right now.”  
  
“I know that,” Johnny assured her. “She told me last night about her divorce, and it just cemented my opinion of her soon-to-be ex-husband. I already didn't like him – just from his involvement with my father, but the man needs to be stopped.”  
  
“Let's say for discussion's sake that I agree with you, that I think that Nikolas Cassadine is a lowdown, dirty, rotten scoundrel.”  
  
Smirking, he teased her, “watching late night cable movie reruns again, Diane?”  
  
“Focus,” the lawyer snapped. Though the kid was right – she _had_ spent a recent evening with Steve and Michael... the younger versions, she certainly wasn't going to dignify his taunt with an admission.  
  
Once he was sober once more, she returned to her previous line of thought. “Anyway, as I was saying, even if I did personally believe that Nikolas deserves to be put down, he's still your father's business partner. If you insist upon destroying Nikolas, you'll also run the risk of taking Anthony down as well. As your father's legal counsel, I must advise against such a course of action, and, as your legal counsel, I'm telling you this is a bad idea, but, as your friend, I'd have to ask just where do you see this possibly heading? Nadine is not going to go from one unhealthy relationship to another? She's currently in the process of divorcing one criminal; she doesn't need to be pursued by another.”  
  
As he ruminated over her words, she ruminated her pastry. Although the fritter was mouthwatering, her appetite was less than what it had been five minutes before. For some funny reason, the idea of family betrayal and personal risk had that effect upon her. But, still, there was no sense in allowing a good danish to go to waste, and she had to eat... even if the food in her mouth did, at the moment, taste like Elmer's glue.  
  
On second thought, though, that certainly put a new spin on the Godfather's iconic example of revenge. Instead of putting a dead horse's head in her bed, however, Johnny had simply served her a breakfast that made her recall one of the animal's many byproducts. With that thought in mind, she distastefully put the fritter back down, brushing its crumbs off onto the floor for her maid to clean up later.  
  
“I've never wanted my father's business,” her early morning visitor eventually replied, distracting her away from her runaway, Mr. Ed thoughts.  
  
“Yes, and I never wanted to be a ginger kitty, but I work it to my advantage anyway.”  
  
“What we're talking about are two very different things, Diane,” he disagreed.  
  
“I realize that, but you have to play the hand of cards life deals you.” Softening her tone, she continued, “you are Anthony Zacchara's son. There's no escaping that kind of legacy, whether you want it or not.”  
  
“You see,” Johnny said, standing up as he prepared to leave, “that's where you're wrong. My father won't always be around, and there are people out there courageous enough to help me break out of the lifestyle. In fact, as you know, my father has arranged for Jason Morgan to be my mentor. Did you know that he once successfully left the mob years ago? When my father made his deal with Sonny Corinthos, he must have forgotten that fact.”  
  
“You and Mr. Morgan have formed a bond then?”  
  
“If that's what you want to call it – sure, I guess.” He shrugged. “The question is: have _we_?”  
  
Diane observed him closely. “Have we what?”  
  
“Formed a bond strong enough for you to trust me, for you to trust _in_ me when I tell you that someday I will be free of Anthony Zacchara's legacy?”  
  
Standing up as well, the attorney grinned. “You and me, kid, we're like peas and carrots, but you're going to have to give me some time to think about this.”  
  
“Honestly, that was more than I hoped for when I came over here this morning.” Ruffling her hair in an annoyingly fond manner as he walked by her on his way towards her apartment's entrance, Johnny said, “see you around... carrots.”  
  
Because of that, she was charging him triple for their little impromptu breakfast meeting.

} ~ {

If being drunk made her feel stronger and all powerful, then hangovers were Elizabeth's kryptonite. Her only relief was the fact that there were no doubt thousands of other people around the world currently feeling her pain as well. Her hair resembled a bird's nest – she could feel several things nestled inside of the mass that didn't belong there, her mouth felt like it was coated in dandelion fluff, and, if she didn't know better, her stomach would have been able to convince her that she had guzzled oil based paint the night before instead of champagne and martinis.  
  
And she had to be at work in an hour and a half.  
  
Groaning, she hit snooze, rolled over, and gently slammed her fluffiest pillow over top of her own head, careful not to jar the metal spikes being pounded into her brain but desperate for a little relief and distance from the outside world. Morning had crashed down upon her way too quickly. The gesture, however, didn't help matters, but, at the same time, it also didn't make things worse either, so she remained that way – unmoving, practically not even breathing for fear that she'd smell her own distillery-like stench. At least she didn't have to worry about Patrick harassing her for a quickie that morning.  
  
Five minutes later, just as she was about to drift back off into sleep, her buzzer went off. Usually, though, if she ignored it long enough, whoever it was that had forgotten their key and needed entrance into the building would either give up or find some other sucker who would get out of bed to let them in. It was painful, though – the noise. It set her teeth on edge and made her fear that, at any second, her brain would start to leak out of her ears, and, instead of stopping as she had thought it eventually would, as she had hoped that it eventually would, whoever it was just kept on buzzing.  
  
“Uh, Patrick,” she grunted, nudging the other side of the bed with her bare knee. When he didn't respond, Elizabeth raised her voice, “damn it, Patrick! Go and get that already.” Still, she received no response, and, in daring to crack open her eyes and look up, she realized why. Patrick wasn't there. That knowledge made the night before come swirling back down upon her. She remembered the party, how drunk she was, and how she had made a fool out of herself – not that she had realized it at the time – by revealing the fact that she couldn't have children, and she recalled why she had thrown the party in the first place. It was a going away celebration for her boyfriend... or whatever the hell Patrick still was to her at that point.  
  
During her thoughts, whoever it was downstairs and outside had still not given up, so, stumbling onto her feet, Elizabeth tripped and crashed her way towards the loft's buzzer, dragging the sheet she was using to cover her otherwise naked body with her. As soon as she had admitted the irritating disturbance, though, she turned back around in order to trek just as unsteadily back to bed. Her head had just landed upon the pillow when a steady pounding began to assault her front door. This time when she stood and crossed the large expanse of the white room, she moved much faster, her rage propelling her swiftly where her hung over legs couldn't very easily carry her.  
  
Whipping the door carelessly open, Elizabeth spoke before she even looked, her words barely escaping through her gritted teeth. “What the hell do you want?”  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
Her mouth dropped open in shock, fear, and astonishment, and it was a miracle that she somehow managed to hold onto her sheet, because the person standing in her doorway was the very last person Elizabeth Webber ever thought she'd see again.  
  
“Can I come in,” Jason Morgan asked.  
  
Before she could think about her actions, Elizabeth slammed and locked the door in his face.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

“Listen, I don't care if you're gunning for bodyguard of the year – gunning being the operative word there, but I am getting inside of that penthouse this morning, and I am going to talk to Corinthos whether you like it or not. So, you can either open the door and announce me like a good puppet, or we'll do this the hard way.”  
  
The burly man across from Jax observed him closely, and he was surprised to see a lack of malice in the bodyguard's expression. In fact, the human bullet shield appeared bitter and disgusted, disillusioned, and it made him wonder if there was dissension in the Corinthos' ranks. A brain damaged thug or not, Jason had always seemed more professional than his mentor. Knowing he was back in town, Jax wondered if perhaps a coup was in the works.  
  
Not that he cared, though. In fact, in his perfect world, Sonny and Jason would somehow manage to take each other out, the mob would find greener pastures and leave Port Charles for good, and Alexis would be free of the world she had naively entered into so willingly years before when she had first taken on the job of the Corinthos-Morgan consigliere. He knew better, though, than to sit around and wait for the miraculous to happen. If he wanted his ex-wife free and safe, he'd have to take a more active role in her life, and that was exactly why he had left the hospital to go and see the man he hated the most in the world.  
  
“I trust that you're not carrying any weapons,” the guard finally asked.  
  
Sarcastically, he responded, “lucky for you, I left my uzi at home today.”  
  
“You can go in,” the other man said sternly, not even rolling his eyes let alone cracking a smile at Jax's joke, “but Mr. Corinthos is still asleep. I'd appreciate it if you'd just wait patiently for him to wake up.”  
  
“I'm afraid I can't do that. Duty calls, and my day doesn't wait for anyone, especially your boss.”  
  
Without sticking around for a response, Jax strolled forward, opening the door and shutting it behind him in what appeared to be nothing but a single fluid motion. As soon as he heard the latch click, he bellowed, “Corinthos! I know you're here. We need to talk.” After several beats without reply, he yelled again, “Corinthos! Either you come down and face me, or I'll come up there and force you to.”  
  
That time, the sounds of footsteps overhead immediately greeted his ears. As he waited for Sonny to emerge and descend from his bedroom, Jax took the time to observe his surroundings. The penthouse was in shambles. Paintings were torn from the walls, cushions and pillows pushed off the sofa, chairs were overturned, and there was enough crushed glass on the floor to kill the population of an entire small nation. In his perusal, he also noticed the overturned and off the hook home phone and the mobster's cell phone, red light flashing to indicate missed calls and messages, tossed forgotten upon a messy desk. For a man who was usually neat and orderly almost to an obsessive level, the disarray of Corinthos' penthouse told Jax that something had definitely happened there the night before.  
  
As soon as the Cuban rounded the corner of the stairs, he set in on him. “Where the hell were you last night – taking out another of your enemies, giving crack to kids, cheating on your wife? We all know you're good at that. After all, that's how you trapped Alexis in the first place.”  
  
“Why the hell would my actions be any of your god damned business, Candy-boy?”  
  
Ignoring him, Jax pressed on. “And then there's the fact that your home looks like a bomb went off inside of it, but, then again, with the rate that things explode around you, you're probably used to such destroyed surroundings.”  
  
Despite his less than put-together appearance – his hair was rumpled, there were dark bags under his eyes, and he was wearing nothing more than a pair of silk pajama pants, Sonny wasn't unsettled by his attack. “Is there a point to your little surprise visit, because, frankly, I didn't know that you liked me enough to just drop by for a chat?”  
  
“Yeah, there's a point,” he returned, moving forward to shove a thick sheaf of papers into the mobster's hands. “I wanted to personally deliver those to you.”  
  
“Love letters, Candy-boy,” Sonny remarked before even glancing down at what he was holding. “You shouldn't have.”  
  
“Oh, trust me. What I just gave you was long overdue.”  
  
At that point, the Cuban finally did read what it was he was grasping, and it didn't take long for him to explode in response. “What the fuck is this?”  
  
“What does it look it like, Corinthos? You'd think you'd be familiar enough with divorce papers by now that you wouldn't have to ask me that question. How many times exactly have you and Carly married each other and then separated?”  
  
Rapidly, the other man shifted through the documents he held. “I notice that Alexis hasn't signed these yet. Does she even know about this?”  
  
“No, not yet, but she'll sign when I hand them to her. I wanted to wait and give them to her – as a present - after you agreed to the divorce first,” Jax explained.  
  
“You must be out of your damned mind if you think I'm going to sign these,” Sonny exclaimed, dropping the papers onto the already littered floor.  
  
“Oh, I'm not, and you will. In fact, you should be grateful. I could have told my lawyers to take you to the cleaners on Alexis' behalf, and, now, after I see what this place looks like this morning, what _you_ look like, not to mention the fact that this place reeks of sex, I'd say that you'd definitely be the party listed at fault. After all, adultery is frowned upon.”  
  
Irately, Corinthos screamed, “you don't know what the hell you're talking about, Candy-boy!”  
  
“I know that, while you were cheating on Alexis last night, she went into premature labor. I know that, while you were sleeping with some slut, your wife was scared out of her mind that she would lose _your_ child. I know that, while you were acting like a immature kid yourself – drunk and destructive, your daughter was almost born a month and a half early. I know that, while you were ignoring all the calls Robin made to you, I was the one who stood by Alexis' side – the woman you claim to love, holding her hand while she faced the reality of possibly losing her baby. I know that your wife and unborn daughter both survived and are doing well this morning, no thanks to you. Hell, I wouldn't even be surprised if it was Carly you had hidden away upstairs. You're just that damn predictable.”  
  
Hardening his jaw and stiffening his spine, Sonny glared at him, refusing to address any of Jax's accusations. “It doesn't matter what you say, I'm not signing those papers.”  
  
“I was hoping that, for once in your life, you'd be reasonable, but I see you're set upon being the stubborn ass that you always have been. Alright,” he conceded, backing up towards the door. “It's your prerogative to contest the divorce, but, no matter what you do, I'm telling you now that sooner or later it will be finalized. If it's the last thing I do, Alexis and her daughter will be free of you someday.”  
  
“Keep getting in my way, Candy-boy, and those words just might prove to be far more profound and... farseeing than even you could have guessed.”  
  
Needing to get in one last barb, Jax paused before opening the door to the penthouse. “You know, it's kind of hard to take you and your threats seriously when you're covered in hickeys, but I'll keep the warning in mind. Hell, it'll give me just another negative thing about you to tell Alexis.” Twisting the handle, he allowed the apartment's entrance to hang open as he offered his final, parting shot, perfectly aware of the fact that Sonny's guard could hear everything he said. “Oh, and don't even think about coming to the hospital to see your wife. If you step within one hundred feet of her, I'll tell Alexis that you slept with your ex last night.” With a smug grin, he added “give Carly my regards,” and then left. 

} ~ {

Although he wouldn't officially start work at General Hospital for several more days, he had stopped by to fill out the mounds of various paperwork necessary for employment in the healthcare field. Patrick wanted to get everything with his new job squared away, so he could focus his attention the rest of the week upon moving into his new apartment and scoping out the town. While he wasn't too sure how he and Elizabeth had left their relationship the night before, especially after her little drunken reveal, he felt confident enough in their lack of feelings for each other to feel free to play the field. If she eventually followed him to Port Charles and they continued their usually effortless relationship? Great. If not, well, there were plenty of other fish in the sea... to use a well-greased cliché.  
  
Unfortunately, though, the hospital's pond was apparently unwelcoming towards attractive female medical professionals. Other than the bitch he had met in Alan's office a few days before or a few friendly but not overly encouraging nurses, the dating pool at GH was dry. He certainly hoped that what Chief Quartermaine had told him about bringing in more fresh, new, young blood proved to be true, because, otherwise, Patrick feared he might have made a grave mistake in moving from New York City to Port Charles. After all, what fun was it (besides the obvious) in being a sexy, hotshot neurosurgeon if he couldn't use his reputation to get women into bed?  
  
That thought was sitting heavily upon his mind as he made his way towards the hospital's main exit. In order to leave, though, he had to pass by both the gift shop and the pharmacy, two of the more crowded portions of the building. Perhaps it was his fear of having to work with unattractive, old women for the foreseeable future, or maybe he did have an inner hot-girl radar like his friends back in college had accused him, but, whatever the reason, despite his distraction, Patrick noticed the cute blonde leaving the pharmacy a few second after he passed by, and he paused at the automatic doors to wait for her.  
  
“I'm sorry to bother you,” he insisted while starting a conversation, “but I'm new in town, and I was wondering if you could tell me where I could a good cup of coffee. The stuff the hospital offers is more like burnt sludge out of an old boot.”  
  
The woman, several years younger and more than several inches shorter than he was, stopped to glare at him. With hands on her hips, she demanded to know, “do I look like a freaking visitor's brochure? No.”  
  
Repeating her own answer, he agreed, “no, you certainly do not. In fact, you look like someone I would want to take out for dinner rather than for coffee.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Bully for you.” Tapping her foot, she questioned, “is there a point to this little drive by interrogation, because I really have someplace better to be?”  
  
“Go out with me.”  
  
“Uh, no,” the woman replied instantaneously.  
  
“Come on,” Patrick cajoled. “You didn't even think about it.”  
  
“Because I didn't have to. Look, Mr. I'm-Cute-And-All-But-I-Need-Better-Pick-Up-Lines, I'm not interested.”  
  
Grinning, he argued with her, playfully rubbing his chin. “I don't buy it. You said yourself that you find me attractive.”  
  
Sounding bored, she admitted, “relatively speaking, but you're not my type.”  
  
“Why? Am I too good looking? Women have accused me of that before.”  
  
“Please,” the blonde dismissed, laughing. “Hardly! In fact, you might not be cute _enough_ for my standards.”  
  
Undaunted, he pressed, “well, it can't be because I'm not wealthy enough. I am a surgeon, you know, a brain surgeon.”  
  
“Well, that's great. If I get shot in the head or crack my skull open, I'll look you up.”  
  
At first, he had thought that she was just flirting with him, but, as their conversation continued and the woman's temper persisted in flinging pointed arrows in his direction, Patrick started to wonder if maybe she really was being serious, if she really wasn't interested in him. “Is it because I'm so confident? I thought that was supposed to be a turn on for women?” Two minutes with the chick, and he already felt as though she had completely thrown him off his game.  
  
“If anything,” she answered with a pointed stare that did not meet his eyes and, in fact, fell much further south on his anatomy. “You're probably not _cocky_ enough.”  
  
“Ouch.”  
  
“Despite all that, I will have dinner with you, though.”  
  
Startled, he asked, “you will?”  
  
“For a doctor, you're not the quickest horse out of the gate, are you,” the woman remarked caustically. “I said I will, and I will. We need to talk.”  
  
Now, it was his turn to take a step back. 'We need to talk' were the scariest words a man could ever hear in Patrick's opinion, because they could mean so many different things but all of them bad. They could mean 'we need to talk, because I'm pregnant, and the baby's yours.' They could mean 'we need to talk, because we slept together in college, and I recently found out that I have gonorrhea.' They could mean 'we need to talk, because I just rear ended your very expensive, custom detailed sports car out in the parking lot.'  
  
“Look, I don't know who you are, but maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I'll just be...,” and he made the signal of leaving over his shoulder.  
  
“Stop right there,” the blonde warned him. “I shouldn't have said it like that. No wonder you're running away like I just tried to saddle you with triplets.”  
  
“So, you're not pregnant, you don't have an STD, and my car's okay?”  
  
“Hell no, I don't think so, and what the hell does your car have to do with anything,” she answered accordingly. Shaking off her own confusion, the woman continued, “I promise to explain everything later, over dinner like you suggested, but, for now, just give me your number, because, like I said, I really do have better things to be doing right now.”  
  
“If there's no chance that you're going to sleep with me, why the hell would I waste my money on dinner?”  
  
“Because I know someone who you do want to sleep with, and, if you want to get into their pants and, trust me, you really, really do – I know this for a fact, then you're going to need my help.”  
  
Frowning in astonishment, Patrick admitted, “this has to be the strangest, most confusing conversation of my life.”  
  
“Yeah, I get that sometimes.” Persistently, the cute blonde pressed her phone into his hands. “Type snappy, Doctor Drake. I have a business meeting to get to, and I can't be late.”  
  
It wasn't until the woman was gone that he realized she had known his name. 

} ~ {

Elizabeth wasn't sure if it was maturity or petulance on her part that had made her force Jason to wait an hour outside of her apartment while she showered, got dressed, called off from work, and then ate a light breakfast of toast and water before allowing him in, probably because the motivations behind her actions had not been simple. While she had wanted to find her composure before facing him, another part of her had wanted to punish him for taking so long to find her in the first place.  
  
Then, there was also the fact that she had been wearing nothing but a sheet when she opened the door, and, given the fact that the last time she had seen him had been the one and only night they had slept together, Elizabeth felt it would be safer for her to be completely covered before opening that particular can of worms. The desire to cover herself, though, had been the naivete of hope on her part, because it didn't matter how many layers of clothes she had on, in Jason Morgan's presence, she still felt bare and vulnerable.  
  
It had been years since anyone, let alone a man, had been able to make her feel so off balanced and confused. Hell, sometimes during the past five years or so, she had wondered if she was even capable of having feelings anymore, but, sitting awkwardly across from her... whatever Jason was to her now, she knew that fear had been unfounded. The problem was that she felt too damn much.  
  
Despite the fact that he had been the one to come and seek her out, Jason wasn't talking. Instead, they both sat at her kitchen table, hands wrapped around steaming hot mugs of black coffee, staring blindly at the whitewashed wood. Occasionally, she'd move to lift the cup to her lips, and sometimes he'd shift uncomfortably in his chair, but neither of them spoke, and they certainly didn't meet each other's gaze. When she finally had enough of the tense silence, Elizabeth went to speak only to be met with the sound of his voice instead. It was rough as sandpaper and just as abrasive to her nerves. “Everything's... white.”  
  
Sarcastically, she replied, “I guess your eyesight hasn't actually failed you since the last time we saw one another. You know, I wondered about that.”  
  
“Elizabeth,” he warned her, but there was no hint of violence to his tone, only pleading desperation.  
  
Undaunted, she continued, “since you asked, I don't paint anymore. That's why everything's white. I prefer... the monochromatic look now.”  
  
“You mean you like the nothingness,” he translated.  
  
She neither confirmed nor denied his accusation. Instead, she asked, “what the hell are you doing here, Jason? After all these years, you show up _now_. Well, thanks but no thanks. Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying, so say your peace and get out.”  
  
“It's not that simple.”  
  
“Oh, but it is,” Elizabeth growled acerbically. “For months, I asked for you. No, scratch that. I _begged_ for you. I wrote you letters, I went to Sonny for help, had him said you message after message, but you never even called me to say, 'hey, girl-I-had-sex-with-and-then-didn't-respect-enough-to-stick-around-to-at-least-say-goodbye-to-in-the-morning, I'm alright, not dead yet. What about you?', and, now, more than five years later, you show up on my doorstep, wake me up after I just had a terrible night, and expect me to patiently wait for you to explain yourself. Well, guess what. I'm not that same nice, sweet girl you walked out on all those years ago; I've changed.”  
  
“I never got a single one of your messages.”  
  
For a second, she didn't believe him. If it had been anyone else besides Honest Abe Jason Morgan, she probably would have thrown her coffee in their face, but, a jerk or not, Jason Morgan didn't lie, at least not consciously. “What do you mean you never got my messages?”  
  
“For security purposes, Sonny had my phone number changed before I left town that morning. I told him to give you my new number, but, obviously, he didn't do that, just like he never gave me your messages. From what I've been able to tell from talking to the guys, he also sent away any of the guards you would have trusted enough to go to for help. Francis was sent to the island, and Johnny well, you know what happened to Johnny, right?”  
  
“No,” Elizabeth whispered, suddenly freezing despite the warmth of the spring day and all the layers of clothes she had on.  
  
“Sonny had him taken out when Johnny started to question some of Sonny's decisions and started receiving overtures from other organizations.”  
  
“Son of a bitch,” she exclaimed, whispering beneath her breath. She had to clench her hands around her mug in order to hide the fact that her fingers were shaking. Focusing, she inhaled tightly and said, “but that still doesn't explain to me why you never came back. I get that you had to leave town for business reasons, but you disappeared, Jason.”  
  
“I was pretty deep undercover,” he admitted. “The job lasted several months, and, by the time it was over, Sonny told me that you were gone, that he had no idea where you had gone to, because you had made it clear that you didn't want anything more to do with me. He said that, after I left, you started to spend more and more time with Nikolas and your grandmother, and he feared they had managed to turn you against me. Normally, I wouldn't have believed him, but....”  
  
“But I had already left town, and you thought that I never once had tried to reach you,” Elizabeth finished for him. For several minutes, they regressed back into silence. Despite her hurt feelings and the pain she was struggling to overcome in order to be rational, what Jason said made sense, but there was just one thing that didn't add up. “But why,” she questioned. “Why would Sonny do something like that to us? He was your business partner, your best friend, and I thought, evidently I was wrong but I still thought, that he was my friend, too.”  
  
She watched as he tugged on his ear, obviously somewhat comfortable. “Sonny's love, his loyalty, it comes with strings. It demands... complete and total obedience.”  
  
“Okay...?”  
  
“I...,” Jason started only to pause and run his hands through his spiky hair. “Look, I'm not sure of his reasons exactly, but I think I know him well enough to figure out his motivations enough to make sense of this mess.”  
  
“Alright, go on then,” Elizabeth suggested. “I promise, I won't interrupt; I'll listen until you're finished.”  
  
He nodded, recognizing her words, and took a moment to gather himself. “Sonny's a family man,” he finally said. “He would do anything and everything to protect the people that he loves, but his love is also fickle. Betray him, and he'll never forgive you. Insult him, and you're dead. But he also holds himself to less lofty standards. His betrayals are forgivable. If he insults you, you should forgive him, because, of course, he didn't really mean it, or it was said in the heat of anger. He's a selfish man, and Carly's the same way. That's why they're so perfect for each other, and that's why, at the same time, they drive each other crazy; they're too much alike.”  
  
Standing, Jason began to pace while he talked. “Sonny always said that he wanted the same things for me that he had – marriage and a family, a loving wife and children, but he also resented it when someone came into my life who mattered more to me than he did. Yes, he was grateful to you for saving my life, but you also made him nervous, because he could see how much you meant to me. So, honestly, when he found out you were pregnant, I think he panicked.”  
  
She had been so engrossed in his explanation of Sonny's character, that when he brought up her pregnancy so suddenly, Elizabeth gasped. “You... you know... about that?”  
  
“I just found out,” he replied, retaking his seat. For a moment, it seemed as though he was going to reach out and grab her hand to hold within his own, but, at the last moment, he pulled away, fisting his hands at his side. “When I came back to town, Anthony Zacchara started to send me... clues, I guess you would say.”  
  
“I know that name. Why do I know that name,” she asked.  
  
“He's another mob boss, operates further south along the river than Sonny does in Port Charles.”  
  
“And what does he have to do with my pregnancy,” she wanted to know.  
  
“Honesty,” Jason admitted, “I haven't figured everything out yet, but what I do know is that Sonny made a deal with Anthony years ago. In exchange for Zacchara handling your pregnancy, Sonny agreed that I would train Anthony's son.”  
  
Shaking her head in confusion, Elizabeth questioned, “what do you mean handle? Our baby died during childbirth, Jason.”  
  
That made him pause, tense up, and sit forward in his chair. Demandingly, he instructed, “tell me everything that you think happened.”  
  
“There's not much to tell. After a while when I couldn't get in touch with you, Sonny offered to send me away so that I wouldn't have to deal with everyone in Port Charles, especially my grandmother. I went out to California. He set me up with a small apartment, I transferred schools, and, five months later, I went into labor, a month early, but, still, the baby should have been fine. There were complications, though, and he didn't survive.” Meeting Jason's gaze, she accused, “that's why I don't understand why you've come back after all these years. Even if you just learned of my pregnancy, it's too late. Our child's dead, and having someone to blame other than myself isn't going to bring him back.”  
  
That time, when he reached across the table, he did take hold of her hands, and, when she went to pull away, he held on fast and tight. “Elizabeth, didn't you know that you were pregnant with twins?”  
  
She almost choked on the sudden sob that tore through her chest. “Are you saying that I lost two of your children?”  
  
Thinking out loud but to himself, Jason murmured, “Sonny... or Anthony, for that matter, must have paid off your doctor to keep that, along other things, from you, but why? If they cared about you at all, they wouldn't have made you believe for all these years that your child was dead. Were they trying to save you the pain of thinking you'd lost two babies?”  
  
“Wait a second,” she protested, finally succeeding in wrenching her fingers out of his grasp and standing up. Backing up rapidly, Elizabeth accidentally rammed her spine against the white marble, kitchen counter. “What the hell do you mean by 'made me believe,' Jason? Are you saying that my baby... babies, oh my god, are actually alive?”  
  
He stood up as well, advancing towards her, but, thankfully, never tried to touch her. “I'm saying that, on Sonny's orders, Anthony Zacchara or someone who works for him told you that your son had died and then put your children, both of them, up for adoption. Your children, Elizabeth, _our_ children, they're alive. Somewhere out there, they're alive, and healthy, and happy, and....”  
  
“And almost five years old,” she whispered in part shock and part relief. Lifting her palms to cover her face, she started to cry, and, as Jason finally took her into his arms, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to stop; she wasn't sure if she ever would want to.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

For all the years that she had lived in Crimson Point, Claudia had never been to Port Charles.  
  
She sure as hell hadn't been missing much.  
  
After knocking on the hotel suite's door that she had been summoned to the night before, the vice-president of Jacks Enterprises patiently waited to be admitted, using the few spare moments to physically prepare herself. She fluffed her hair, pursed her lips, and made sure that her outfit was tastefully professional while, at the same time, flattering towards her many assets. Not that she would be able to change again if she suddenly found her appearance lacking, but it was a ritual that she found comforting, and, after flying all night from Rome to some god-forsaken hick town in upstate New York, she needed the reassurance.  
  
“You whistled, boss,” she greeted her employer with a sly grin, stepping into his rented rooms without waiting for such an invitation. Between them, such common social niceties weren't necessary. Offering him an air kiss, Claudia questioned, “what's the emergency?”  
  
“We'll get to that in a minute,” Jax replied, “but, first, I want to introduce you to someone.” As she followed him into the room, she became even more aware of her surroundings. Although obviously a non-permanent residence, for Jax had been living in Europe for the last several years, the space in which she found herself in didn't seem like the typically impersonal hotel penthouse. In fact, her boss seemed rather at home in the space. The realization made Claudia start to question just how long her presence would be required in America.  
  
Jax's voice brought her back to the present. “Alexis Davis, I'd like you to meet my right... and sometimes left hand woman, Claudia. She's the second in command at Jacks Enterprises. Claudia, this is Alexis Davis, my ex-wife.”  
  
Those were perhaps the very last words she had expected to hear come from her employer's mouth, but she hid her surprise, plastered a smile upon her face, and bent overly slightly to reach and shake the other woman's hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
“Likewise,” the former Mrs. Jasper Jacks agreed.  
  
Of course, she had seen pictures of Brenda Barrett, the love of Jax's life... or so he claimed, so she was caught off guard to see that Alexis Davis was the exact opposite of the famous model. Whereas Brenda was soft and exotically beautiful, Alexis was all hard lines and strength. It wasn't that the woman wasn't attractive; she was just... stately as well. Almost regal. And, for that matter, she looked familiar, too. “I'm sorry, but, have we met before? I could have sworn that...?”  
  
The ex-Mrs. Jax rolled her eyes, laughing self-deprecatingly. “Not only was I once married to your boss, but I'm also an illegitimate Cassadine. Seeing as how you've evidently been living in Europe, I'm sure you're familiar with the family name.”  
  
“And don't forget your stint as Eddie's Angel,” Jax added in helpfully, a teasing devil apparently perched upon his shoulder, causing his blue eyes to sparkle mischievously.  
  
“I'm sorry, I don't understand. Who's Eddie,” Claudia asked, glancing between the still oblivious friends.  
  
“Ignore him,” Alexis told her. “It's irrelevant.”  
  
“No, it's irreverent and highly entertaining. Remind me later to explain it to you... with pictures,” her boss advised.  
  
“Alright, I'll keep that in mind, but, for now, do you care to tell me what's going on? This place looks like the inside of a hospital room.” And it did. There were even monitors attached to the other woman laying prone upon the large, overstuffed couch.  
  
“He sprung me early on the condition that I remain strapped up to these machines. After all, we can't have Mrs. Jumbo springing an early leak.”  
  
“Yeah, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about,” Claudia said, her eyes widening with bewilderment.  
  
“You'll have to excuse my best friend,” Jax replied in answer. “As you can see, she's pregnant.”  
  
“Understatement of the decade,” Alexis mumbled under her breath.  
  
Without pausing to address his ex-wife's complaint, her boss continued, “she's currently obsessed with making Dumbo references, for she believes that she's carrying a little baby elephant inside of her.”  
  
“I see.” But she really had no fucking clue what either of them were saying. Nodding decisively once, though, she pretended to. “That's still not clearing up the whole matter of 'Claudia, this is Jax. I have an emergency here. I need you to take the company jet and fly into Port Charles immediately. Have a safe flight.'”  
  
“Well, I think the safe flight part was self-explanatory,” Alexis quipped from the couch.  
  
They both ignored her. “Last night,” Jax explained, “the self-proclaimed _Mrs. Jumbo_ over there went into premature labor. In fact, for several hours, she was leaking amniotic fluid.”  
  
Holding up a hand, she stopped him there. “Please, just skip to the part where I come into play. While your ex-wife might have morning sickness, I don't need to experience the sensation as well. Let's keep all discussion of any bodily fluids private, shall we?”  
  
In silent agreement, her employer simply progressed with his narration. “Anyway, until Alexis safely delivers her daughter a month and a half from now, she's on complete and total bed rest. While I'm aware of the fact that you don't know her very well, needless to say, making sure she follows her OB-GYN's instructions is going to be a full time job in and of itself. Trust me. So, while I'm babysitting her, I'm going to need you to take over temporary management of Jacks Enterprises.”  
  
Grinning widely like a fool, Claudia exclaimed joyfully, “you're shitting me, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Alexis answered, “he's shitting you.” Addressing her ex-husband the other woman said, “really, that's not necessary. I won't let you take a leave of absence just to make sure that I keep my feet up. I'll be fine, and you'll be at work.”  
  
“I've already contacted my attorneys and placed you, for the time being, in control,” he readdressed Claudia. “Unless there's an emergency and the company is about to go under, you'll handle all day-to-day operations and any problems that arise. Consider me officially on vacation.”  
  
Wiggling her brows at him, she teased, “it looks more like paternity leave if you ask me.”  
  
As she left, Jax was still thanking her, and Alexis was still yelling objections and insults behind her, but Claudia had already tuned them both out. She had bigger, more important things on her mind... like who she wanted to tell first that she was now in charge of a multi-billion dollar corporation. Oh, if only her father could see her. With control of Jacks Enterprises, she was now more powerful than Anthony Zacchara could ever hope of becoming, and, unlike her father, she had managed to rise so highly without an ocean of blood buoying her upwards. After all, compared to the amount of lives he had ruthlessly taken over the years, including his own second wife's, her damage was a mere puddle in the shower of life, already practically evaporated.  
  
Suddenly, Port Charles appeared bright and shiny to her otherwise worldly and cynical gaze. She couldn't wait to meet her fellow local players. For such a small part of the world, upstate New York certainly was... shark infested, and, now, at least for the moment, she was the biggest shark of all. Claudia had never been so happy in her entire life. In fact, she was pleased as pie... blood red, power hungry, cheery pie.

} ~ {

“I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice,” Diane greeted her young guest, shaking Maxie's hand in what she hoped was a warm and gracious manner. Although she was used to being in charge, with this situation, she had to employ subtleness. If anything more than a pair of shoes was to come from their meeting, they both had to leave that afternoon happy. “I know I just met you last night, but I really wanted to talk with you. I've been thinking.”  
  
Before she could say more, an eager Spinelli stepped closer to her desk, his pen and pad of legal paper clutched distractedly against his chest. “Oh, yeah.” Rolling her eyes, Diane introduced them. “Maxie Jones, this is my secretary, Mr. Grasshopper.”  
  
The younger woman laughed, boldly. “Please, tell me that isn't his real name. Although... you know, come to think of it, he kind of looks like a grasshopper. His hair has a green tint.” Addressing the computer hacker directly for the first time, Maxie advised, “you should have your water tested for chlorine. It does terrible things to one's hair. That's why I only sun when I go to the pool; I don't swim.”  
  
“Yes, because we all know good baking yourself at ninety degrees is for your skin,” Diane remarked sarcastically. “Anyway,” before either of the twenty-somethings could protest or distract them further, she explained her assistant's inclusion in their meeting. “I asked Damien to join us so that he could make a record of everything we discuss today. I find it helpful, especially when one is as busy as I am, to always have all my ideas written down just in case I forget something. Plus, frankly, the kid's a whiz with computers and a genius when it comes to numbers. He balances my check book for me.”  
  
“Do you rent him out,” the budding designer inquired cheekily as she took her seat across from the attorney's desk. Although her secretary glared at their guest, he didn't respond to the barb, and, taking a cue from him, she allowed the topic to drop.  
  
Sighing and leaning back in her seat in order to achieve a more dramatic pose, Diane said, “I'm afraid we have a problem.”  
  
“Oh, those are never words I want to hear.”  
  
She could have tortured the young woman for several minutes, but she chose to be kind instead. Because of her run-in with Johnny that morning, that was twice in one day that she had decided to be sympathetic. Something was definitely wrong with her. “I fear that one pair of your delectable shoes will simply not be enough for me.”  
  
Maxie's mouth gaped open, and she leaned forward. “How many are we talking here?”  
  
“Well, I'm thinking an unlimited supply, actually. That's why I called you for a meeting so quickly. I have a business proposal for you, Miss Jones.”  
  
“I've been in town for less than a week, and you're the second person with obvious good taste to say those words to me. Have I stepped into an alternative reality where Port Charles actually became... hospitable?” Diane laughed heartily, swinging her legs up to cross her ankles upon her desk... the better to show off her new Jimmy Choo sandals to someone who would appreciate them. “Oh, talk about some majorly hip exclamation points to some pretty damn nice stems, Miss Miller.”  
  
“Aren't they,” she agreed. “I just got them this morning. They were a bribe.”  
  
“I think you just became my role model,” Maxie admitted with a chuckle. “Well, you know... other than the whole lawyer thing and the red hair.”  
  
The girl was sometimes crass and practically always uncouth, but she found her blunt honesty to be refreshing... and quite humorous. There was no one else in Diane's life who would ever dare to speak to her in such a way, and she suddenly realized that she wished there was. While she loved being independent and feisty, self-reliable and confident, it would have been nice to have a girlfriend or two that she could go out with and say anything to.  
  
Although she liked the young Miss Jones, Diane felt as though the age difference between them was too wide of a chasm to cross on a daily basis, and Nadine, Mr. Grasshopper's sister, was just too damn sweet and nice. However, Alexis Davis on the other hand... that woman had her own salt and vinegar spirit. If she would just ditch the husband, Diane felt as though they could pals. What a novel concept, especially given the fact that Alexis, in all actuality, was her greatest professional rival... not that anyone was as good of an attorney as she was, though.  
  
Refocusing their conversation, Diane revealed, “so, what I was thinking is this: if I were to agree to back your business financially, for a little while, at least until you get on your feet, you would pay me with shoes.”  
  
“What else,” the younger woman insisted eagerly. “Do you have a preference as to how the business is run? Do we go immediately for the big time or start small with a boutique here in town? Just shoes, or are you willing to back my clothing designs, too?”  
  
“Oh, well, I really hadn't thought about any of that yet,” she admitted somewhat reluctantly, for she never enjoyed confessing to a self-made error in either judgment or mental acuity.  
  
Clearing his throat, Spinelli entered the conversation. “Actually, if I may be so bold, I actually have a suggestion.”  
  
Maxie groaned, sitting back in her chair with an obvious slump. “Oh, this will be good. The kid wearing cargo shorts and a graphic tee things he can give _me_ fashion advice?”  
  
Diane didn't even give her Mr. Grasshopper a chance to defend himself. After all, if anyone was going to insult the little monkey, it was damn well going to be her. “While Damien might not be the snappiest dresser, you should show him enough respect to listen to his ideas. Like I told you, he's a genius. I wouldn't allow him within a ten yard radius of my closet, but, if I were considering the best way to make money, I'd certainly lend him an ear.”  
  
“The esteemed Miss Diane Miller, Esquire,” Spinelli applauded, acting like the ham that he was.  
  
“If you have something to say, nerd, spit it out. I... we don't have all day, you know.” Looking in Diane's direction, the young fashionista questioned, “is he always so... weird and wordy?”  
  
“It's a part of his charm.”  
  
“As soon as The Brusque Lady of Justice told me about her desire to bankroll your future in the sweatshop industry this morning, I started thinking about the best way to get the two of you operational and solvent as quickly as possible.”  
  
“Haute Couture is not produced in sweatshops, geek,” Maxie snapped.  
  
Mr. Grasshopper giggled. “Keep living in your pretty, pretty pink palace there, Evil Blonde One. Denial is not an attractive shade on someone otherwise so intelligent and focused.”  
  
Puffing out her chest, the younger woman asked, “you really think I'm smart?”  
  
“Oh, for god's sake, will the two of you please just shut up and get on with it already. You banter more than Laverne and Shirley.”  
  
Simultaneously, her secretary and her guest demanded, “who?”  
  
“Damien, just tell the girl your idea.”  
  
“I say we launch the line with a website startup. Get local girls to model your designs in and around Port Charles, in places familiar to your clientele, and then advertise locally with fashion shows and agreeing to dress the MC's at charity events and local musical talent. People who like your clothes can then go to your site and purchase things for themselves. Once you've acquired enough revenue, we can use that as capital to get a loan in order to open a boutique... or twenty, I don't know or particularly care other than the fact that my intrepid employer will be involved in the deal.”  
  
“You are a freaking genius.”  
  
“I told you he was,” Diane said smugly in response to Maxie's praise of her secretary. Just then, her phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she knew that she needed to take it and that she needed to be in private when doing so. “I have an idea. Why don't the two of you go out to lunch, on me, and discuss this further. Damien can fill me in on everything you decide when he comes back.” Without waiting for a reply, she instructed her assistant, “charge it to the office's account. We'll write it off as a business expense.”  
  
As soon as they were gone, she picked up the ringing receiver. “I didn't expect to hear from you again so soon.”  
  
“I was wondering if you would be willing to access those adoption files for me,” Jason Morgan asked. Although she could hear a polite hesitancy to his voice, she also heard a hardened steel of determination. While he might be saying the right words of passivity, she knew that he wouldn't actually accept no for an answer. She could respect that. “I'd like the names of the other two attorneys involved. While I don't expect you to find out let alone tell me who ended up with those two kids....”  
  
“Two little boys,” Diane corrected him. “Both children were male according to my paperwork. I remember that much.”  
  
Startling her so much that her feet nearly slipped off her desk, taking her down to the floor with them – in fact, she barely caught herself by grabbing hold of her chair's leather arms, Jason said, “if you're right, then I need those names to help me find my sons.” Before she could fully adapt to that bombshell, he was dropping another one upon her unsuspecting head. “We have some packing to do, but we'll be back in town tomorrow. I'll call you to set up a time and place for us to meet.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“The mother of my children will be returning with me,” the enforcer revealed. Then, without a goodbye, Jason Morgan hung up.  
  
Returning her own phone to its receiver, Diane only had one thought. Though it was barely twelve-thirty, she needed a very stiff drink. Or maybe ten.

} ~ {

Sliding into the seat across from his wife – they were having lunch together at The Grill, Alan said, “you'll never guess who I just got off the phone with before leaving the hospital to meet you.”  
  
“Noah Drake,” Monica posed instantly. Her response was a little too fast for his taste.  
  
“Oh, you would go there, wouldn't you?”  
  
The cardiologist rolled her eyes. “Don't get your old man tighty-whities in a knot. I just though that, with his son causing such a stir already, all we need now is for the father to join the staff as well.”  
  
“Because he's such a stud,” Alan asked derisively. Even he could hear the jealous petulance floating in his voice, but he couldn't help himself.  
  
“No, because, from what I've heard, Patrick does not get along with his dad.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yes, oh, so quit acting like a possessive ass.” After glaring at her for several seconds, the chief of staff looked up, hoping to spot their waitress. “And I already ordered for you – something healthy, so don't think that you'll be staining yet another tie this afternoon with butter drippings or gravy grease.”  
  
“You act like you're my mother.”  
  
“Probably because you act like a fifteen year old,” Monica retorted. “Did you ever think that maybe you should just be grateful that I don't want you to die anytime soon?”  
  
With a wry grin, he asked, “is this what romance in your sixties is like for us?”  
  
“What, constant bickering and suspicion? No, we've always been like that.”  
  
His smile widened. “Being married to you is such a chore.”  
  
“And you're no easy pill to swallow yourself,” his wife returned his bantering. “Now, I believe there was something you wanted to tell me when you first got here.”  
  
“Oh, yes, Elizabeth Webber called me a little while ago.”  
  
“You're right,” Monica agreed. “I never would have guessed her.”  
  
Just then, their salads arrived, and they waited for the server to place the food before continuing their discussion. Alan noticed a decided lack of dressing on his greens and frowned. As he talked, he pushed the unappetizing, cold vegetables around with the glittering tines of his salad fork. “She wanted to know if there were any nursing positions open at GH.”  
  
“I thought Patrick said that she was in no way interested in following him to Port Charles?”  
  
“He did,” the chief of staff said, giving up and pushing his plate aside. Monica happily munched on like the rabbit he sometimes thought she was. “Apparently, though, he was either mistaken or something has happened to make her change her mind.”  
  
“And what did you say,” his wife inquired.  
  
“I told her we'd welcome her with open arms just as soon as she could arrange the transfer. She'll be here tomorrow.”  
  
Monica put down her fork. “That's incredibly fast. I think the question becomes is she running away from or to something?”  
  
“I don't know about that, but what I do know is that I'm not going to be the one to tell Audrey.”  
  
“Don't look at me,” the cardiologist objected, holding up her hands. “I say we leave this alone and allow the two of them to come to terms with each other on their own.”  
  
He agreed, and they fell silent. As Monica finished her salad, he sat in quiet, thoughtful repose, silently wondering more about what had motivated Elizabeth Webber to change her mind so drastically and suddenly. After their salad plates were cleared, his wife cleared her throat. “I spent some time with Lila this morning before I left for work.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Did you know that she had a guest yesterday? Jason came to see her.”  
  
Just like any other time when his wayward son's name was mentioned, Alan started to pay particular attention to what was said. Sitting up straight in his chair, he asked, “is he alright?”  
  
“Lila said that he was distracted by something and definitely changed since the last time she had seen him. Apparently, he and Sonny have had some kind of falling out with each other.”  
  
“It's about damn time that happened,” Alan thundered strongly, though his voice was still soft enough so that their conversation remained private. “Did she say anything else?”  
  
“Just that, of all the things they could have discussed following his long absence, they spent the whole time talking about Elizabeth Webber.” He could see his wife's blue eyes glittering as she went in for he kill. “Oh, and that he called her late last night and said that he was going out of town for a few days. He'd let her know when he got back.”  
  
“So, Jason met with mother yesterday to talk about his ex-girlfriend....”  
  
“We don't know for sure that he and Elizabeth ever dated,” Monica pointed out, interrupting him.  
  
“He then goes out of town, and I get a call today from said... whatever Elizabeth Webber was to him, asking for a job at GH.” Leaning conspiratorially across the table, Alan queried, “you don't think that this is all related somehow, do you, that Jason had something to do with Elizabeth deciding to move back home?”  
  
“I don't know, but I certainly wouldn't object to the idea.”  
  
“Me either,” he agreed, sharing a small smile with his wife. Repeating himself in a whisper, Alan confirmed, “me either.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Just like her little brother had always been, Johnny was still sweet, innocent, and totally naïve. It was no wonder that he was suffering from the effects of a crush. Though it had been years since she had seen her only sibling, Claudia could easily tell that nothing had really changed. He was still entirely undeserving and unfit to run their family business, and she was still being overlooked in favor of someone who, despite his age, was still nothing more than a boy. Patriarchal societies sucked.  
  
Johnny had always been quiet and introverted. He had preferred the company of his piano over spending time with the guards at the shooting range or even hanging out with her. Whereas she had enjoyed physical activities – boxing, horseback riding, and snow boarding, Johnny had lived in his own head. Whenever someone needed him, he'd always be found in the privacy of his own room, reading or listening to classical music. The only remotely masculine thing about him, in her opinion, was his love of cars. However, that certainly wasn't enough in his favor to earn her respect or make her feel as though he were capable of handling the Zacchara empire.  
  
He lacked a killer instinct, he had absolutely no stomach for blood and violence, and he looked down upon the lifestyle which he had been reared in, whereas she, on the other hand, was much more like their father than Johnny could ever hope to be. For better or worse, she was a Zacchara; the jury was still out on her little brother. It didn't matter, though, what she thought, because, more capable or not, she was still a woman. Anthony was a sexist, chauvinistic pig of a man who had never trusted women let alone liked his own daughter enough to trust her with his lifelong work. Hell, she wasn't even sure he'd leave the business to her if something unexpected and deadly happened to her only sibling, leaving her the only viable family heir.  
  
Perhaps that was why she and Johnny weren't close. Claudia wasn't immature enough to write off her indifference towards her brother on the fact that they had nothing in common. Stranger friends, for that matter stranger bedfellows, had been known to occur. Rather, she believed her lack of warm, fuzzy feelings towards Johnny stemmed from her resentment of their father and her jealousy of her sibling. Though that didn't say much about her personality, it was the truth, and self-awareness was preferable, she thought, to obliviousness. Plus, frankly, she just didn't give a damn.  
  
That was why she hadn't rushed off immediately following her meeting with Jax to reunite with her family, why she was, instead, lurking in the shadows of General Hospital and observing her brother in surreptitious secret. Before she revealed her presence in upstate New York, she wanted to know the status of her father's business, whether or not Johnny had changed at all during her years in Europe, and just who she could use in connection to the Zaccharas to get ingratiated into the family empire. Even though watching him woo some young, nobody nurse didn't quite qualify as the top-secret surveillance she had had in mind when setting out that afternoon, it was nonetheless amusing... in a disgustingly sentimental, pathetic kind of way.  
  
She had to admit, though, as she watched her little brother smile winningly at his crush, that Johnny was a handsome guy. She just wasn't sure if he was actually a man or not.  
  
“I know this might be presumptuous of me – just showing up here where you work, but I... I had a really good time last night, and I was hoping that you might consent to having lunch with me today. Rumor has it the hospital cafeteria is serving sole of boot with rubber cement this afternoon.”  
  
“My favorite.”  
  
“So, is that a yes...,” Johnny asked. Claudia had to clench her teeth in order to withstand the sickeningly hopeful sound of his voice.  
  
“That's an I-have-no-idea-how-you-knew-what-time-I-was-to-go-on-break-but-give-me-a-few-minutes-and-I'll-meet-you-outside-of-the-on-call-room.”  
  
She followed them slowly, cautiously, careful that she wasn't spotted, but she shouldn't have been worried. The two younger adults were too engrossed with each other to ever pay enough attention to their surroundings to spot her. Watching them was like a display of adolescent courtship. They would glance at each other shyly out of the corner of their eyes, blushing if the other spotted their covert attentions. If their fingers accidentally brushed, they would hurry to pull their hands in front of them, wringing them in bashful anticipation of another innocent touch. And the smiles they offered each other? Well, Claudia was just lucky that she wasn't diabetic, though, since she was already in the hospital, she was tempted to go have her sugar tested afterwards just to make sure.  
  
They had only been in the cafeteria for a few minutes, their congealed and unappetizing food sitting forgotten before them as they made the small talk only brand new couples find necessary. She did have to admit that she was surprised her baby brother was going for a used model. Who would never have guessed that Johnny Zacchara would have been so gone over some tossed aside housewife with kids, and she wondered where the hell they might have met one another. After all, pedestrian or not, surely her brother didn't hang out in kiddie parks and daycare centers, right? If he did, well, then the Zacchara empire had more problems than she had previously thought.  
  
She was just about to give up, declare Johnny a lost cause of valuable information when a third party crashed their lunch. The newcomer was obviously irate and gloriously sexy in his anger. Interested once more, Claudia sidled over to a discreet table and took a seat, using the newspaper she had swiped from some sleeping patient's room to cover and hide her face. From her position, she could observe the scene enfolding before her _and_ half of the hospital.  
  
“You are such a hypocritical whore,” the new arrival accused her brother's crush.  
  
Johnny stood up to meet the other man's confrontation. “I think you need to relax, take a breath, and back off. This is Nadine's place of employment. Not that I think a woman should ever be treated or yelled at the way that you currently are, but this is certainly not the place for such a confrontation.”  
  
“This has nothing to do with you. This is between me and my wife.”  
  
“Soon to be ex-wife,” the blonde defended herself, also rising. “And John's right, Nikolas.” Oh, so it was _John,_ was it, Claudia noticed with a smirk. While the name might be more adult than Johnny, it still didn't make her baby brother a man. “You shouldn't be here right now. If you wish to speak to me, make an appointment with my lawyer.”  
  
“Oh, we'll definitely be meeting with our attorneys again real soon. After the way you raked me over the coals for my relationship with Carly....”  
  
“Sleeping with someone does not constitute a relationship, and Carly Corinthos is not someone I want spending time with our children. She shot a man once in open court. She spent time in a mental institute. She's amoral.”  
  
“Like I said,” the nurse's husband taunted, “hypocritical. Here you are, practically panting after the heir to the entire Zacchara crime syndicate, and you think I'm a bad influence on _my_ son, _Emily's_ son, because I'm spending time with a woman who has a checkered past? At least she doesn't consider murder a means to expedite business arrangements.”  
  
“And neither do I,” Claudia's brother defended himself. “Before you stick your nose where it doesn't belong, maybe you should get your facts straight, Cassadine. I'm nothing like my father.”  
  
“Maybe not yet, but it's only a matter of time. Your old man won't live forever, especially in your world, and, when he dies, every ounce of blood he's shed over the years, every crime he's committed is going to be yours to inherit.”  
  
“Nadine and I are just friends,” Johnny said.  
  
“Yeah, and I'm just your average, American Joe,” the man named Nikolas countered. “Why don't you try passing off your lies on someone a little more gullible next time.” Turning his ire back towards his wife, he spat, “if you really want to fight dirty, then I'll bring every resource at my disposal against you. You make me sick, Nadine – sleeping with a man in order to get him to fight your battles for you.”  
  
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” the nurse exclaimed. Claudia could tell by the blonde's tone of voice that her composure was shattered, her patience rapidly being replaced with irritation and frustration.  
  
“I'm talking about you having your new little boyfriend send his father after me, warning me to stay away from your brother.”  
  
With hands on hips, her only sibling's crush challenged, “I didn't even know until about five minutes ago that John _was_ a Zacchara. We just met yesterday, Nikolas.”  
  
The man clicked his tongue in mocking disapproval, shaking his head back and forth as he chastised his wife. “Wow, you certainly work fast, don't you?”  
  
“Alright, that's enough, Cassadine! You're finished here,” Johnny declared, the other man's last name ringing several loud and distinct bells in Claudia's business oriented mind. “You can either leave now of your own free will, or I'll have you removed.”  
  
“I'm a board member! It's my family's money which keeps this sinking ship afloat,” Nikolas laughed in her brother's face. “You see, that's one of the benefits of not being a criminal. You can actually invest in legitimate, respectable operations.”  
  
“I wasn't talking about calling GH's security for help, and, if you're such an honest, stand-up guy, why are you in league with my father?”  
  
Backing up, the other man warned, “this isn't over, Nadine.”  
  
Once he was gone, she stood up and slipped out of the cafeteria as well. While she was leaving, she heard her baby brother and his crush simpering through nauseatingly comforting apologies to one another. She certainly wasn't sticking around for that. Besides, Claudia knew that she had gotten all the information that she could from Johnny. In fact, she was actually shocked how much one little domestic confrontation had revealed to her.  
  
While the blonde chippie had children, her soon-to-be ex only claimed a son, one that, apparently, he had fathered with another woman. More importantly, said ex was actually an honest to fucking goodness Prince – the head of the entire Cassadine family. Add to that the fact that he was somehow doing business with her father and screwing the local kingpin - Sonny Corinthos' ex-wife, and Claudia knew that she had located her first fellow shark. The man practically had his fingers dipped into every source of power in Port Charles. He was definitely someone that she planned on getting to know much better. With that in mind, she followed him.  
  
Confronting her father could wait; she had a soon-to-be divorcee to trap inside her web.

} ~ {

“As a doctor, I thought you'd be more socially aware.”  
  
Patrick watched as a startled Robin Scorpio, wrapped in nothing but a white terrycloth towel, nearly jumped out of her very creamy and quite supple looking skin. “Oh my god,” she screamed in shock as he relished being able to catch her so unaware. With her hand still over what he supposed was her rapidly beating heart, she demanded, “what the hell do you think you're doing?”  
  
“Waiting for you to finish so that I could take a shower,” he answered casually. “I left early, had planned on going back to my new place to get it set up, but then changed my mind. As head of neurology here, I thought it would be more important to have my office set up before my home. Seeing as how your clothes are all dusty and you're not set to officially start here for another week, I'm thinking that you were of the same mindset. Great minds, huh? Now, here's to hoping that you didn't use all the hot water.”  
  
Purposely, he had crammed enough information into his short monologue to throw the haughty, stuck-up bitch of a doctor off her game, and Patrick was rewarded for his efforts when he saw her stumble clumsily for a response. “Yeah, well, and here I was thinking that your ego could use a cooling down.”  
  
“Don't you mean my libido?”  
  
“That, frankly, I have no interest in even considering, let alone hearing about. So, if you'll excuse me....” She went to push by him, obviously intent upon getting dressed somewhere with at least a modicum of privacy, but he shifted so that her path was blocked.  
  
“Why the rush? You're not being paged, and neither of us have any pressing cases at the moment. I think that we should take advantage of the opportunity and use it to get to know one another better.”  
  
“Oh, I know you well enough already,” Robin Scorpio said, narrowing her dark brown eyes in measurement. “You're an immature, one note cad who thinks he's god's gift simply because he wields a scalpel and pays way too much money to get his hair cut.”  
  
“And don't forget the shiny red sports car, too.”  
  
Gritting her teeth, she continued through a clenched jaw, “my point is that I'd rather have a root canal than spend five minutes in the presence of your company. Hell, make that a tooth extraction. Without Novocaine. That's how repulsive I find you.”  
  
“So, I take it a shower for two is out of the question,” Patrick teased, whisking off his own dusty shirt before she could respond.  
  
As she started to upbraid him further, he continued to undress. “No, I'd say the only way the two of us will ever get close to that much water together is if I'm drowning you.”  
  
After pushing down his pants and boxer-briefs in one fluid motion, Patrick stood up straight, his nude form proudly on display, and smiled. “Well, good, because, frankly, I value myself and my body too much to risk exposure to frost bite. I just wanted to make sure that we understood each other.”  
  
“Actually, we don't. I don't understand you at all, and I don't want to, but, as long as you stay away from me – don't look at me, don't speak to me, don't even think about me, then we'll be fine.”  
  
“Just as long as you return the favor, Scorpio.”  
  
“That's Doctor Scorpio to you, ass,” Robin bit out.  
  
“And that's Doctor Ass Which is Fine... to you.”  
  
They went their separate ways at that point – Patrick into the shower; the she-bitch behind a row of lockers to change. Several minutes later, he was still laughing when she slammed the on-call room door on her way out.

} ~ {

Although Diane had decided to help Johnny, she was still legally obligated to protect her employer's interests, and, finding a way to please both father and son when it came to Nikolas Cassadine was not going to be an easy matter. She felt as though she were walking a tight rope... and that definitely not an easy task to do in four inch heels. Add to her circus act the fact that she was also aiding Jason Morgan in his search for his children, and the attorney was one ball away from taking her juggling act and auditioning for the nearest traveling carnival.  
  
After considerable contemplation, she had decided to be upfront with Anthony, to tell him about Johnny's interest in Nadine and his desire to put the young mother's soon-to-be ex-husband in prison despite the fact that Nikolas was his father's latest business associate. She just hoped that she wasn't signing the nurse up for the same treatment that the mother of Jason Morgan's children had received. If anything happened to either Nadine or her kids, Diane would never forgive herself, and forget about her relationship with Johnny.  
  
“You're looking... on edge this evening,” Anthony greeted her candidly as she stepped into the _alleged_ don's study. That was her boss, never pulling punches. It was perhaps the one thing that she and the elder Zacchara had in common. “What's wrong?”  
  
As always, Anthony was seated behind his lavish, intimidating desk – a position of power that only served to heighten his always confrontational aura. Even during his sanest moments, Anthony was rash and confident, destructive in his insatiable quest for power, wealth, and recognition. She had absolutely no idea how to anticipate his reaction to her information, but she strolled forward in a determined manner anyway. As soon as someone showed any hesitancy or fear in Anthony Zacchara' presence, they were finished. In dealing with her employer, Diane had learned that lesson first.  
  
That's why she still had a job, why she was still alive.  
  
“Johnny came to see me today,” she announced, casually taking a seat across from the small man behind the big desk. Some guys overcompensated with guns; her employer chose furniture.  
  
“At least he visits one of us,” Anthony quipped. After a moment, he asked, “and what did my wayward, ungrateful son want? Another new car? A larger share of his trust fund? I highly doubt he came to you to seek legal counsel. After all, we both know that the kid wouldn't even jaywalk if given the choice.”  
  
“Well, in a way, it was a legal matter, but he's not in any sort of trouble if that's what you mean.”  
  
“Damn,” Anthony swore, sounding regretful. “Not that I thought he would be, but a father could certainly use a son's sewing of wild oats to his advantage.”  
  
Ignoring the veiled hint of blackmail, Diane plunged on. “He actually sought my help in getting someone else in trouble.”  
  
“He wants to set someone up for a crime that he committed,” her boss asked hopefully.  
  
“No, as you said yourself, Johnny's as clean as a whistle.”  
  
“You know, I never understood that expression,” Anthony remarked thoughtfully. “Considering how dirty the human mouth is, you'd think a whistle would be covered in all sorts of... harmful germs.”  
  
Once more, she refused to be baited by the older man. “He wants to send Nikolas Cassadine to prison on racketeering charges.”  
  
“Why ever would he want to do that? While John tries to pretend that this business – _his_ legacy – doesn't exist, surely he's aware of the fact that the Pompous Prince and I are working together to bring down Sonny Corinthos' empire?”  
  
Sometimes, it scared her just how much Anthony and Spinelli were alike. “If he wasn't, he is now. I informed him of the business arrangement this morning when he came to see me.”  
  
“And he's still determined to ruin my partner?”  
  
Diane admitted, “more so than ever, Anthony.”  
  
“Hmm...,” the old man mused. She was astonished to see a small grin tugging at the wrinkled corners of his mouth. “Knowing my son, he wouldn't go to all this trouble unless his grudge against Cassadine was personal. Let me guess. It has something to do with a woman. Since I know that he has better taste and more common sense than to be interested in Carly Quartermaine-Corinthos, it must be the little Mrs., am I right? My John is interested in the little nightingale. You know, I met her once - _Nadine_ ,” her employer revealed. “And I liked her.”  
  
Now, that, was just downright shocking... and impressive. Anthony did not like women. Hell, he only tolerated her because she was the best, and they both damn well knew it. However, the fact that he liked Nadine also gave Diane concern as well. After all, she knew what had happened to Maria, Johnny's mother and Anthony's ex-wife, and he had claimed to love her.  
  
“Set it up,” her boss announced, slapping his desk in emphasis and surprising her out of her thoughts. “My arrangement with Nikolas will only last a few more months at the most, and, when it's over, if he suddenly found himself in legal trouble, well.... It would certainly be a shame, but I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, that's for sure. Just make sure that I'm not implicated at all,” Anthony warned, his voice suddenly hardening with threat. As she rose to leave, he issued one last proclamation, “and tell me son that this favor does not come free of charge. Someday, I'll want something in return.”  
  
Diane could only hope that the father's imposed, eventual debt was of a price the son was willing to pay.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Her studio felt the same yet completely different, but nothing had changed. Except her. Standing in the middle of a room she never thought she'd step foot in again, next to a man she never thought she'd see again, in a city that she had hoped to never enter again was quite daunting for Elizabeth. Although she was no longer the sweet, naïve teenager from before, being back in Port Charles made her feel like the last five years had never happened. Gone was her confidence. Gone was her strength... even if it was just an empty act. And gone was the distance, the buffer that she kept between herself and the rest of the world. With one conversation, Jason Morgan had been able to bring all of her walls crashing down around her. Unlike Berlin, though, it didn't feel so freeing.  
  
Their discussion about her lost child... their lost children had been their first since the last night they spent together... and their only. Since they had been able to dig their way through the lies and deceptions surrounding them to determine that their little boys were still alive, neither of them had been brave or ill-advised enough to talk to the other again. Elizabeth was relieved. She needed time to process what she already knew and to prepare herself for what she knew she would have to learn next.  
  
Instead of talking, they had worked together to pack up more than four years of her life. In a single afternoon, she had completely imploded her life in New York... and by choice, no less. While Jason had called a realtor, she had phoned General Hospital to speak with Alan Quartermaine. Oddly enough, getting a new job had been easier than dumping her old one. Presbyterian had been less than pleased with her decision to leave, especially since she had given them absolutely no notice. However, Elizabeth knew that their unwillingness to let her go stemmed from a professional standpoint. Personally, if she knew her former coworkers well enough, she wagered they had immediately started celebration plans as soon as they had gotten her off the phone. She didn't mind.  
  
After the legalities had been taken care of, she and Jason had silently worked together to box up her things and put in storage the stuff she wouldn't need immediately. Furniture, the majority of her kitchen supplies, even her winter clothes had been shoved inside a rented locker located just outside of the city. How Jason had gotten her belongings there, she didn't know. He didn't ask for her preferences; she didn't offer them. It was just easier that way.  
  
Oh, she knew that they needed to talk. Not only did they suddenly find themselves the co-parents of two four year old little boys, but, if they were going to do this – to go back to Port Charles, dig through their pasts, and find their kids, then they had to discuss the things that had happened to the both of them between the time they had last seen each other and the day before. Not only was it going to be difficult, but Elizabeth really had no idea where to start... and that was without taking into consideration the fact that, once upon five years ago, she had unwittingly fallen in love with the father of her children.  
  
When she had believed she lost their baby, though, she had lost the part of herself that could feel things as deep and as powerful as love, but, seeing Jason again, confronting the memories she had tried to forget for so long, was bringing up thoughts and emotions better left buried, in her opinion. She wasn't sure if she wanted to explore that comatose part of her heart, let alone if she could survive doing so. And that was just her own mindset. She had no idea what Jason was going through, what he was thinking, and she certainly didn't know what he was feeling. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know those things either.  
  
Unwittingly, the two of them had been standing in the doorway of her old studio for several tense and still minutes, neither daring enough to actually walk inside of the small space. Although the lights were out, she could see the flea market couch over by the window, the bare shelves she had left behind, and a few forgotten canvases tossed carelessly into a corner. Other than some dust and maybe a few more chipped bricks, absolutely nothing had been altered about the space since she had left.  
  
“We don't have to stay here,” Jason murmured softly. Though his voice was low, she could clearly hear him next to her, his words breaking through the dense and stuffy air. “We could go to Jake's, or I could get us a hotel room. You could always go and stay with your grandmother if you....”  
  
“No,” she interrupted him, taking a deep breath before pushing her way into the studio. “No, we already decided that we'd stay together. If we're going to do this, if we're going to find our kids, we're going to do it together, and, if I don't stay close to you, you'll either go off on your own or disappear on me again.”  
  
“Elizabeth, I said that I wouldn't....”  
  
Again, she cut him off. “I know what you said. I was listening. But that doesn't mean that I trust you, Jason. I can't, not after what happened... even if you weren't technically to blame.”  
  
“Well, I guess that's a start.”  
  
“What is?”  
  
“That you can admit that everything that happened wasn't my fault,” he answered her.  
  
Still, Elizabeth continued to question him. “A start to what, though?”  
  
This time, the only answer she received was a shrug. She didn't press him for a response, though, because, again, she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear what he had to say. Changing the topic, she blurted out, “they told me that he was stillborn.”  
  
Confused, Jason slowly asked, “what...?” It was obvious that his brain had not made the jump with her own.  
  
“The baby... when I had him, they told me that he was stillborn, so how can you be so sure that those adoptions that Anthony Zacchara's lawyer found are even for our children? Maybe Miss Miller's original suspicions were correct; maybe Anthony's daughter did get herself into trouble. After all, I did, and, bad judgment or not, I know that I'm not the only one with a Lizzie inside of her. They never told me that I was pregnant with twins, and, if the baby died, he never could have been put up for adoption.”  
  
She knew what she was doing. Everything had happened so fast. With one word, Jason had managed to alleviate her worst fear, her biggest regret, but such a relief seemed too easy and certainly too quick. It was like those pop-up ads on the internet. Click on one, play a stupid game, and win a million dollars – way too good to be true and, if you were sucker enough to believe it, the consequences could be fatal... to your computer. The shiny apple that Jason had gifted her with had to be diseased, or drugged, but she couldn't find the worm, so, instead, she was trying to tell herself that what she really saw wasn't a red apple but a mirage, and common sense and a little denial would make it disappear again.  
  
“Elizabeth, you know as well as I do that those were our sons. Are our sons. There are just too many coincidences for them to be otherwise.”  
  
Without a word, she turned her back to him and moved to stand in front of the window that overlooked the docks... and the Corinthos-Morgan warehouse. Quietly, he followed, careful not to touch her and scare her into retreating any further. She appreciated his consideration. Finally, she relented enough to whisper, “I know,” and, though he didn't say a thing, she could physically feel Jason relax behind her with her admission. The next thing she said, though, made him tense up once again. “What are you going to do about Sonny?”  
  
He sighed, and she could picture him rubbing a rough hand across his tired, stubble shaded face. “Honestly, I have no.... Is that Nikolas?”  
  
Curious by his question, Elizabeth moved slightly to get a better view of the shadowed docks. True enough, it was her former friend standing out on the wharf, but he wasn't alone. “Who's that with him?”  
  
“I've never seen her before.”  
  
Why that admission made her happy, she didn't know, but she quickly brushed the burst of relief aside. “The last time Grams wrote anything to me about him, she said that Nikolas had remarried – some nurse from the hospital - and that the two of them had adopted a little girl. That woman does not look like a nurse.”  
  
“And definitely not a mother either,” Jason observed.  
  
The remark almost made her smile before she remembered that she should have been a mother herself to two little boys, but they had been stolen from her. Instead, she said out loud, “I wonder who she is?”  
  
“I could find out for you... if you wanted me to.”  
  
“No,” Elizabeth immediately dismissed the offer. Turning around, she shrugged her shoulders. “It doesn't really matter, and we have more important things to find out... but thanks.”  
  
“Sure,” Jason responded, glancing away from her. “Anytime.”  
  
It was the most they had said to one another since the morning before. With that realization, she started to feel awkward around him once more. “Uh... we should... get some sleep. It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer.”  
  
“You're right,” he agreed with her, already moving to ready himself. Basically, that meant that he was moving to take off his boots. “You should take the couch.”  
  
“No, Jason, you're bigger, and I'll be fine on the....”  
  
“Elizabeth,” he interjected, stopping her in her rambling tracks. “I insist.”  
  
Ten minutes later, she took the couch. Neither of them said another word to each other for the rest of the night.

} ~ {

“You know, these docks are pretty dangerous. Are you sure you should be down here by yourself at night?”  
  
Without actually moving his body, Nikolas quirked his head to observe the woman who had – without making a single noise – managed to sneak up on him. She was dark and attractive, though, so he didn't mind the interruption. Raising a single brow, he asked, “and you would know this how?”  
  
“When you've seen more than one man die from gunshot wounds while standing on a wharf, that's a rather hard lesson to forget. Not this exact wharf, but, hey,” the stranger shrugged. “If you've seen one, you've seen them all, right?”  
  
He smirked. “Let's just hope you don't feel that same way about everything.” When she returned his smile, Nikolas asked, “so, if the waterfront is so dangerous, why are you down here alone?”  
  
“What would you say if I told you I was looking for you?”  
  
When he answered her question, he stared at her mouth. “I'd say that my first question definitely still applies then.”  
  
Her laughter was throaty, its husky rasp prickling the hair along his neck. “My father never taught me how to throw a ball or how to drive a stick, but he did teach me how to fire a gun. Zacchara family lesson number one: never leave home without your semi-automatic.”  
  
“Zacchara, you said,” he questioned. “You're not by any chance related to Anthony Zacchara, are you?”  
  
“Claudia,” she introduced herself, moving forward to shake his hand. Nikolas obliged her. “And, yes, Anthony would be my dear old dad.”  
  
“He never said that he had a daughter.”  
  
Biting her lip, the woman shook her head in annoyed dismissal. “No, he wouldn't.”  
  
“So, then, how do you come to be out here so late at night in such a dangerous part of town just so that you can officially make my acquaintance? For that matter,” he pressed her for information, “how do you even know who I am?”  
  
“You're Nikolas Cassadine. Even if you weren't connected to my father, I would have recognized your name. Surely, you're used to panting title-chasers hunting you down all the time?”  
  
He finally turned to face her, raking his gaze up and down her body, something she was obviously intent upon showing off. The dress she wore was scandalously tight and revealing. He approved. “So, is that what you are – a title-chaser?”  
  
“Well, don't get me wrong, I like diamonds, and I'd kill to possess the power a Cassadine princess would be able to wield, but I'm not the subservient, marrying kind. I have nothing against earning power from laying on my back; I just don't have any interest in sharing it or wearing a five carat shackle on my left ring finger.”  
  
Nikolas laughed. “You certainly aren't fond of relationships are you?”  
  
“Yeah, well, when your father banishes your birth mother and murders your step-mother, you tend to shy away from commitment. However,” Claudia revealed with a wicked grin, “I do like sex.”  
  
“I just bet you do.”  
  
“Anyway,” she startled him out of the sensually charged moment by clapping her hands together and then walking away, “back to your question, because I haven't been following you around for the past two days just to sleep with you.” At least she didn't preclude that from her objective, he noticed without comment. “I saw you at the hospital, confronting the little wife.”  
  
“And your brother,” he pointed out.  
  
“And my brother,” she agreed. “I think that I may be able to help you with this problem of yours. Now, of course, my assistance doesn't come without a price.”  
  
“No, of course not,” Nikolas agreed with her. Shoving his hands into his designer pockets and tilting his head to the side, he observed the woman across from him. “The question is, though, just how much will this assistance cost me exactly?”  
  
“I'm a business woman, Mr. Cassadine,” Claudia revealed to him, “and what's the first rule of business? Quid pro quo. I'll scratch your back now for the promise that, when I have an itch myself someday, you'll be there with your manicured, princely nails to satisfy my needs. Besides,” she added, sauntering towards him. Once there were just a few inches separating their two bodies, Anthony's daughter, trailing her blood red nails down his silk shirt clad chest, teased, “who said that by helping you eliminate my brother I wouldn't be helping me out as well?” By the time he was done talking, the tips of her fingers were toying with the fastening of his belt.  
  
“I think that we should discuss this proposal of yours at further length.”  
  
“Long lengths are my favorite,” Claudia leaned forward to whisper in his ear.  
  
“Excellent,” Nikolas offered expectantly. “And the launch that will take us to my home should be here momentarily.”  
  
“So, that rumor about you is true, huh? You really do live in a castle?”  
  
This time, he moved to speak along her neck, murmuring, “everything that is said about me is true, and you'd be wise to remember that fact.”

When her hand fully slipped down inside of his pants, though, Nikolas couldn't even recall his own astute warning. By the time the boat arrived to take them across the water to Wyndemere, he wasn't sure who was leading who or who had the other firmly in their hand... metaphorically speaking, of course. Physically, he was very aware of Claudia holding all the power between them... at least for the moment.

} ~ {

“I don't know. I always thought that Jasperella had a nice ring to it.” To cap off his outrageous statement, Jax tossed a piece of popcorn up and then caught it in his mouth, chewing devilishly.  
  
“You know that I've always admired your mother, but why Lady Jane named you Jasper in the first place, I'll never understand. Your name is horrible. It reminds me of something a kid would name their pet rabbit.”  
  
“Yes, because you – a Cassadine - are the expert on childhood pet rearing, right,” he teased her.  
  
“Perhaps in pet sheering,” Alexis admitted.  
  
Laughing richly, Jax tossed another piece of popcorn up and caught it in his mouth. They were sprawled out on his expansive living room sofa together, eating his ex-wife's favorite snack. Because Alexis couldn't sleep and he felt it was his duty and his privilege as her friend and her babysitter to stay up with her, they had decided to discuss baby names. To say that they hadn't gotten anywhere would be a grievous understatement. In fact, if he had to guess, Jax would wager that his best friend was even more confused about what to name her daughter than she had been twenty minutes earlier. “You know,” he suggested, “you did bring up a lady worthy of having your child named after her.”  
  
“I did?”  
  
“You did. My mother,” he reminded her.  
  
“Oh, well, even if I liked the name Jane... and I'm not really sure that I do, would your mother actually want me to name my daughter after her? Lady Jane and I have always gotten along, but, Jax, I'm your _ex_ -wife. Even when we were married, if I had been pregnant then, it would have been more fitting to name the kid Tracy.”  
  
“Let's hope that neither Ned nor Dillion ever saddle any daughter of theirs with a legacy like that.”  
  
Now, it was her turn to chuckle. Composure regained, though, Alexis said, “no, I don't think I'll name my child Jane, though don't think that I'm not honored that you would suggest such an idea.”  
  
“You're welcome,” he replied, this time tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth instead of his own.  
  
Thoughtfully, she chewed. “I'm not sure that I want to name her after anyone in my family either.”  
  
“Speaking of negative associations,” Jax teased.  
  
“Don't get me wrong, I know that I loved my mother, but to name my daughter after a woman who conceived me because of an affair with a brutal, sadistic man, a woman who was murdered by the cuckolded woman who would then go on to raise me, I don't think that's such a good idea.”  
  
“With the same thought in mind, I'd say it'd probably be wise to avoid all the Russian names.” Munching contentedly, Jax thought for several minutes. “Let's see, I've always liked the names Vivienne, Natalie, and Ava.”  
  
Looking at him crookedly, Alexis questioned disbelievingly, “you've actually thought about baby names before? What kind of girly-man are you! I'm a woman, and _I've_ never once thought about baby names.”  
  
Ignoring her, he suggested, “oh, and I also like Isabella.”  
  
“No!”  
  
Surprised by his best friend's suddenly hard, cold tone, Jax asked, “what? Why not?”  
  
“My child will absolutely, positively NOT be named something that could be considered hispanic.” Before he could respond, Alexis yelled, “ugh! I cannot believe that I've put myself in this position. To fall for Sonny Corinthos and to sleep with him is one thing, but to conceive a child with him? What the hell was I thinking? He's a criminal, a freaking gangster for christ's sake!”  
  
“What, no tacked on 'alleged?'”  
  
Apparently, still not listening to him, she admitted, “you have no idea how much I wish that this child was yours, Jax.”  
  
As soon as the words left her mouth, Alexis clammed up, her eyes widening to the point of resembling over-sized, round marbles. Awkwardly, he swallowed several times, at a loss for how he was to respond to such an unexpected, earth-shattering statement. Fumbling with the half-empty popcorn bowl, he tried to wade through the mind-shaft that his feelings had suddenly become. “I should... I should go and refresh this,” he finally said, standing up and retreating to the kitchen.  
  
She didn't try to stop him.  
  
As he fussed about, making more popcorn, Alexis' words continued to flash through and across his mind. _I wish that this child was yours, Jax. I wish that this child was yours, Jax. I wish that this child was yours, Jax. I wish that this child was yours, Jax._ It was a constant, never ending litany, a whip strike of a whispered confession against his heart. Where five minutes ago, he had known exactly what to do for his best friend, exactly what she needed, and exactly what role he wanted to play in both her life and her child's, now he was at a complete loss. With one sentence, Alexis Davis had gone and tossed his entire world upside down. And the funniest part? He wasn't even sure that he minded the sudden confusion. In fact, he was pretty damn sure that he didn't. Now, he just had to figure out what the hell that meant exactly – no easy task. It was a good thing that he enjoyed challenges.  
  
Two minutes later, his microwave's timer sounded. He pulled out the finished popcorn, dumped the bag into their bowl, and went back out into the living room where his ex-wife and closest confidant was waiting. “You know, if you don't like Jasperella, there's always Jaxina,” he told her. “It's very modern, fresh, and definitely not Russian.”  
  
It also wasn't Hispanic either.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

“What happened to dinner,” Patrick asked as he slid into the seat across from her.  
  
Maxie rolled her eyes. Not bothering to look up from the compact she was using to check her makeup, she responded, “why waste a valuable evening that I could use to go out with a guy that I was actually interested in? By the way, I hope you know that you're paying for this.”  
  
“Why doesn't that surprise me?”  
  
“Hey,” she snapped, clicking her compact shut and glaring at him. “Don't take that huffy tone of voice with me. You're the one who likes to brag about how much money you have. Well, buddy, it's time to put your wallet where your mouth is.”  
  
Before he could argue further, Maxie signaled their waitress and placed her order – two non-fat, decaf caramel frappachinos with extra ice and star shaped waffles with fresh fruit and fat-free whipped cream, something she'd never actually eat. The neurosurgeon ordered a black coffee and a bran muffin. Boring!  
  
Once their waitress left, Patrick asked, “so, what is it exactly that you do for a living then?”  
  
“Cut the small talk,” she demanded. “I thought we already established the fact that I wasn't going to sleep with you. Or go down on you. Or stroke anything that registers anywhere near your ego. This is a meeting – not a business meeting, mind you, but certainly not a pleasure meeting either. Like I told you at the hospital, there's something that we need to discuss, but it has nothing to do with my personal life.”  
  
“Do you know that you have absolutely no tact whatsoever?”  
  
Maxie waved off his insult. “Tact is for fools who really don't know what they actually think or are too afraid to speak their minds.”  
  
“Then tell me,” he asked of her, “just why exactly I should stick around to hear what you have to say? You've insulted me, and you've admitted to using me to pay for your breakfast.”  
  
“Three words for you: Doctor Robin Scorpio.”  
  
She watched as Patrick scrambled to sit up straighter in his chair and then leaned forward to observe her more closely. “What did you just say?”  
  
“Oh, please, you heard me.” Holding up a warning hand, she said, “and don't jump to conclusions and think that I'm stalking you or anything. Remember, you were the one who approached me; I just took advantage of your less than suave attempt at a pick-up.”  
  
“Alright then,” he agreed. “But tell me how you knew that name would get a reaction from me.”  
  
“Robin's my cousin,” Maxie revealed.  
  
Cockily, the doctor said, “so, she's been talking about me, huh?”  
  
“More like bitching about you, and, frankly, I'm sick of listening to her.”  
  
“But, hey,” he bragged, crossing his arms over his chest, “if nothing else, I've obviously gotten under her skin. Singing my praises or complaining about me, at least I'm on her mind.”  
  
“So, then, you're interested in Robin?”  
  
“Hell no,” Patrick denied vehemently. “That woman is a shrew.”  
  
“But a hot shrew,” she pointed out.  
  
“Not hot enough.”  
  
“She obviously gets under your skin just as much as you get under hers,” she pointed out.  
  
“Like a bad case of poison sumac,” he bit out. When she went to bait him further, he prevented her from doing so by continuing, “look, your cousin is loud, opinionated, and rude. She's as cold as ice but wouldn't be nearly as useful in bed. For her sake, I hope she's a good doctor, because, honestly, I can't possibly think of any other nice thing to say about her. I egg her on, because I think it's fun to make her mad, not because I want to sleep with her.”  
  
“Well, that's good, because I don't want Robin to get hurt. She deserves more than just a one night stand, though everybody who knows her realizes that she needs to get laid, laid well, and, most importantly, laid soon.”  
  
“I'm not going to be that guy.”  
  
Their drinks arrived just then. As she waited for the waitress to leave them alone once more, Maxie inspected the man before her. “You know, I've always been immature.”  
  
“I thought this wasn't going to be sharing time?”  
  
“Don't interrupt me,” she warned before continuing on. “I messed around in school, started fights all the time with my sister while we were growing up, and I never worked hard at anything. Still don't. However, there is one area of life that I've always been older and far wiser about than my years denote. I know guys, and, you, Doctor Drake, are a classic example of a little boy who pulls on his crush's pigtails to get her attention instead of sending her flowers or offering her a compliment.”  
  
“What exactly are you saying,” he questioned.  
  
“I'm saying that this war that you and my cousin have going on between you is nothing more than foreplay – petty, rather unsatisfying, in my opinion, adolescent foreplay.”  
  
“Honey, if that's your definition of foreplay, perhaps you should reconsider going out to dinner with me.”  
  
The two of them had been so engrossed in their conversation, that neither of them had heard Robin approach their table, Cate in tow. Though Maxie had made plans for the older woman to drop her daughter off so that they could grab breakfast before, as always, spending the day together, Robin was early, even earlier than Maxie had anticipated her arriving.  
  
“I can't believe... this... that you.... I need to leave,” Robin stated, obviously caught off guard by seeing Maxie with Patrick and unsure of how to react to her own feelings about the situation. While Maxie knew that their meeting had been nothing but innocent, her cousin evidently thought it meant much more... just as she had hoped when she made her plans for that morning.  
  
“Doctor Scorpio... Robin, wait,” Patrick Drake called out and stood up simultaneously, preparing to run after his fleeing coworker.  
  
Before he could leave, Maxie cleared her throat and made the universal sign of needing money. Without looking, the neurosurgeon tossed several bills onto the table, plenty for her to pay the meal and to treat herself and Cate to a movie later. She smiled with double the pleasure. Just then, her waffles arrived, and she immediately pushed them – and one of the frappachinos - towards her charge. After all, when she had ordered the carbohydrate heavy food in the first place, she had had Cate in mind.  
  
Conspiratorially, she leaned over the table. As she spoke, Maxie started to cut up Cate's breakfast. “Between you and me, kid... which means don't tell your mother, I'd say that you're going to have a daddy before I can even complete the design on your custom flower girl's dress.”  
  
If nothing else, if her dreams of haute couture tripped and fell flat on the runway like Carrie during her charity, celebrity fashion show, maybe she'd open some kind of dating service. After all, she already had a computer geek who was hopeless in the romance department to help her, and she'd bet every last piece of her designer wardrobe on the fact that Spinelli visited dating websites on a daily basis. And it was a good thing, too, because, with Robin married off, her single mother of a cousin would no longer be single and, in effect, would no longer require her services. A dreamer or not, Maxie knew how important it was to have a fall-back plan. She just didn't anticipate needing to use it.

} ~ {

Diane wasn't sure what she had been expecting when Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber came into her office that morning, but for two people who shared not just one but two kids together, she had certainly believed they would, at least, sit closer to one another. Hell, maybe they'd even dare a glance in the other's direction or hold hands even. But if the two young adults across from her had at one point been close enough to conceive twins together, one couldn't tell now by looking at them. To say that there was some obvious distance between them was putting it mildly. In fact, she was pretty sure her shoe closet could have fit between them... and that was the largest room in her luxury apartment.  
  
“This isn't going to be easy,” she told them bluntly, folding her hands before her on the desk she sat behind. When neither Mr. Morgan nor Miss Webber blinked, she explained, “you see, the adoption proceedings were closed. That means that the documents cannot be accessed by just anyone.”  
  
“But we're not just anyone,” Elizabeth protested. “We're the boys' birth parents.”  
  
“I know that, and you know that, but the state of the California does not care.”  
  
She watched as Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in what she hoped wasn't an exasperated manner. Though she liked the enforcer well enough, a guy didn't _allegedly_ kill people for a living because he was Mr. Rogers. The last thing Diane wanted to do was try Morgan's patience. “What's our next step then,” he asked her.  
  
“Well, those court documents might be closed for the average computer user like you or myself, but if I just so happened – hypothetically speaking, of course – to have a repudiated hacker under my employ known online as The Jackal,” she revealed, “then this wouldn't pose nearly as big of an obstacle for us.  
  
With a total lack of humor and a sincerity the attorney found frightening in someone so young, Elizabeth asked, “do we look like people who are going to be familiar with the screen names of local computer nerds?”  
  
“When you put it that way, no,” she conceded, “but trust me when I say that Damien is one top notch, cracker jack whiz with a keyboard. I have it on good authority.”  
  
“From who,” Jason questioned, “the kid himself?”  
  
Blushing, Diane looked away before clearing her throat. “Anyway, I need you to tell me everything that you can remember about that time. The more information I have about you, your children, and your situation, the easier it will be for me to track your sons down. All I know is what my own paperwork tells me, and, since all I did was arrange for two other lawyers to handle the situation, that's not much. For starters, why don't you tell me how the hell Anthony Zacchara even managed to get his hands on your kids in the first place.”  
  
It was Elizabeth who answered. “They told me my son had died, that he was stillborn. I never even got to see him, because, by the time I came to from the anesthesia, he had already been sent to the morgue.”  
  
“Did you say son... as in one?” Narrowing her intelligent eyes and leaning forward, she questioned, “are you telling me that you weren't even aware of the fact that you were carrying twins?”  
  
“No, I wasn't.”  
  
“What about prenatal care, sonograms, ultrasounds?”  
  
“I had them all. When I moved out to California, I was about three months along. I obviously knew that I was pregnant, but I waited until I was on the west coast to have everything confirmed. I didn't want my grandmother to find out, so I didn't see Doctor Meadows at GH. As for my OB-GYN in Napa, Sonny arranged everything.”  
  
“So, we can assume that your doctor cleared everything with him first before telling or asking you,” Diane realized.  
  
“Or Anthony,” Elizabeth replied, shrugging. “I don't know when the responsibility of duping me and then stealing my children switched hands exactly.”  
  
Sighing and rubbing her temples in an effort to think rationally, the lawyer refocused their discussion. While she wasn't a mother and certainly never wanted to push something roughly the size of a bag of flour out of her vagina, Diane wasn't heartless. Just the idea of what the two people sitting across from her had been put through, especially Miss Webber.... Well, it turned her stomach to say the least. “Why did you never question what they told you about taking your son immediately to the morgue?”  
  
“Miss Miller, I was eighteen years old. I had not heard from the father of my child since the night that we had slept together. I was alone. I was scared, doped up, and then they told me that my son was dead. Excuse me for not having the foresight to realize a fast one was being pulled on me.”  
  
Immediately feeling contrite, she apologized, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a question.  
  
“No,” Elizabeth shook her head in self-castigation. “You were right to ask me that. I just... I've been asking myself the same thing since Jason told me that my child... our children are actually alive.”  
  
“I think that's only natural,” Diane commiserated. After a moment, she moved them on. “At this point, I guess the only things you can provide me with is an exact location – which hospital did you give birth at – and as many names of those who treated you as you can remember.”  
  
“My OB-GYN's name was Doctor Tamra Park, and I gave birth at Queen of the Valley Medical Center. That's where her office was. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what a single one of my nurses looked like, let alone their names.”  
  
“I can do some research, though,” Mr. Morgan offered, “if that would help you out at all.”  
  
“It couldn't hurt,” the attorney told him. “We could get lucky and find someone who remembered something useful and who would be willing to talk to us. I've heard of leads coming from stranger places.”  
  
As the two parents stood up, it was Jason who paused before leaving. “Are you sure you still want to help us, Miss Miller? You're Anthony Zacchara's chief legal counsel. Surely, looking into this case is a conflict of interests for you.”  
  
“It is that,” she agreed with him, also standing. Placing her palms flat against her desk, Diane leaned forward and said, “but that may not be the case for long.”  
  
“What does that mean,” Morgan wanted to know.  
  
“I've defended Anthony Zacchara for many years now. Although I've never seen him do anything illegal personally, I'm not naïve or stupid. I know he's not a good man, but what he did to the two of you, frankly, revolts me. Plus, there's Johnny for me to consider as well. He wants nothing to do with his father's business and even less to do with his father. Between that and the fact that Anthony is working with Nikolas Cassadine to bring down Sonny Corinthos, putting even more innocent lives at risk while at the same time allowing me to send his business partner down the river.... What I'm saying is that I think it's time for me to wash my hands of my number one client. Beside, I'm about to become an investor in a new fashion house. So, do what you want to Anthony. I just don't want to know about it.”  
  
“I'm going to talk to Johnny first before doing anything,” Jason revealed.  
  
“I would appreciate that.”  
  
“I'm not doing it for you,” the former enforcer said, grinning slightly. “I'm doing it out of respect for a man that I trust.”  
  
“Watch it,” Diane warned him teasingly. “Keep talking like that and everyone's going to think Jason Morgan's gone soft. Making friends with the local competition, what's the mob coming to these days?”  
  
“Alleged mob.”  
  
She nodded in understanding. “Alleged mob.”  
  
As Jason and Elizabeth left, Diane finally sat back down. Damn it all to hell, she was pretty sure she had just made a new friend as well. Perhaps two. Port Charles certainly was becoming a stranger place to live with every day that went by. Before long, she'd be in a relationship, wearing flats, and entering into a partnership with Alexis Davis if she wasn't careful.  
  
Nah!  
  
She'd always wear heels.  
  
Chuckling at her own illogical and impossible fancies, they attorney went back to work.

} ~ {

Several weeks earlier, he had discovered 'Cat Cam,' a local twenty-four hour reality show that some local fellow tech geek had set up to film his pet. Unbeknownst to the cat's owner, though, Kitty Hussy, as he, The Jackal, so affectionately called the program's star, had come into heat, cried until a local tomcat came slinking through the kitchen's pet door, and gotten herself in the family way. If nothing else, the situation had proved to him what he always had suspected: it wasn't the father who was the last to know; it was the grandparents.   
  
Conveniently, 'Cat Cam' was set up in the four main rooms of Kitty Hussy's house – the kitchen, the living room, the computer room, and the spare bedroom. Motion censored, the scene's focus would change whenever the show's star altered her location. Since that late night free feline porn show that he had inadvertently watched, he had been hooked on the internet reality show. It was addictive, watching something so pointless and knowing something about someone else's pet that they weren't aware of, and, if he were completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he couldn't wait to witness the birth... and the cat owner's reaction when they discovered the breeding betrayal.  
  
As he waited for his next class to start that afternoon, Spinelli watched 'Cat Cam,' totally engrossed in the experience, while he drank an orange soda. So, when someone slammed their purse down across from him, he jumped, nearly spilling his carbonated, imitation fruit beverage. Knowing that slamming stemmed from anger and that confronting said anger would probably only get him pinched or worse, he remained docile and seated, waiting for his aggressor to begin their confrontation. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
“You are such an interfering, no good, rotten, underhanded, dirty, sly, evil....”  
  
“Genius,” Spinelli finished his sister's thought, offering Nadine what he hoped was a sweet, innocent smile.  
  
“... busybody who lies by omission.” He liked his version better. “I can't believe you didn't tell me that 'Master John' was a Zacchara.”  
  
“His surname should not have been the determining factor on whether or not you would allow him to see you home,” he countered. “The Italian is a gentle, benevolent stallion.”  
  
“So, now, not only is he a gangster's son, but he's also a boxer, too?!”  
  
“Uh... huh?” The Jackal knew such a response was not very eloquent, but, really, his cherished sister really could be confusing sometimes.  
  
“Never mind,” Nadine rolled her eyes, waving off his lack of comprehension. “The point is that you should have told me, Damien.”  
  
“I was afraid that you wouldn't give him a chance if you knew who he was related to.”  
  
“And smartly so,” she contended. “Not only am I currently going through a really nasty divorce....”  
  
“Even more reason for you to make a really good chum,” Spinelli interjected helpfully.  
  
Without pausing to consider his remark, she pressed on. “But I'm also a mother. By withholding John's identity from me, you put my daughter at risk.”  
  
“Master John would never allow anything upsetting to happen to either you or La Petit Princess Squirt.”  
  
“Well, I'm glad one of us is so sure,” Nadine said pointedly.  
  
“Frankly, oh-dear-sister-of-mine, I fail to see why this is worrying you so much. It was one walk home.”  
  
“Followed by one lunch together at the hospital and one impending outing to go to a concert,” she revealed sheepishly. “Damien, I think I'm dating the heir to the Zacchara... whatever it is that Johnny's going to inherit from his father.”  
  
“Oh, one could use many words,” he told her helpfully. “Business, Dynasty, Organization, Empire.”  
  
“Yeah, not helping.”  
  
“And also not important,” The Jackal beamed. “You're dating Master John; you have a significant other again – one, finally, who is deserving of that title.”  
  
“Significant other might be pushing it. It's a few dates, little brother.”  
  
“You're a mother and a soon-to-be divorcee. I really don't think it would be fitting to refer to him as your boyfriend,” he informed her.  
  
“Good point.”  
  
Wiggling his eyebrows, Spinelli pushed his laptop and 'Cat Cam' aside. “So, what kind of concert are you going to? Some art house indie band, or perhaps a legendary rock star, king of the power ballads?”  
  
“It's a classical music concert,” she answered him.  
  
“As in... classic rock and roll, right?”  
  
“As in Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach,” Nadine corrected.  
  
“My opinion of the Italian Stallion has just fallen drastically, I'm afraid.”  
  
“Yeah, and I'm thinking you might want to stop calling Johnny that, Damien, before he proves to be far more deserving of the nickname than even you're aware of.”  
  
“Again, you speak in riddles,” he accused her.  
  
“Don't go there.” He nodded in recognition. After all, he was The Jackal, the king of all things twisty with complicated and befuddling knowledge. “So, you're message said that you have some big news for me?”  
  
“Yes, you're not the only Crowell to have met someone new and special this week.”  
  
“You're dating, too,” his sister exclaimed excitedly. “I'm so happy for....”  
  
“Oh, The Jackal shudders at even such a thought,” he cut her off before she could finish her vile thought. “Through my most esteemed employer, I have made a new business associate, someone I will be working with closely to set up and organize a high-end online fashion boutique.”  
  
“Something you've always been known for,” Nadine taunted him, “your fashion sense.”  
  
Ignoring her, he pressed on. “That is why the person I met is considered new – I'd never laid eyes on her before a few days ago. As for why I refer to her as being special, well....” Hurrying through his words, for he knew that his only sibling would not appreciate his next remark, Spinelli said, “she is the most frustratingly dim witted simpleton I have ever met in my entire life, and you know how intolerant I am of stupidity.”  
  
“Yeah, that's definitely saying something. Does this special simpleton have a name by chance?”  
  
“Legally, she answers to Mariah Maximiliana Jones....”  
  
“Now, there's a mouthful,” his sister pointed out.  
  
“... but I just refer to her as the Evil Blonde One. It's much more indicative of her true nature.”  
  
Laughing, Nadine asked, “she's attractive, isn't she?”  
  
Forlornly, he replied, “she's hotter than Lara Croft Tomb Raider and Sydney Bristow combined.”  
  
Still chuckling at his expense, his sister stood up and tossed her heavy, recently slammed down purse back onto her shoulder. “After the stunt you pulled on me, I'd say you're getting exactly what you deserve. Have a great day, Damien.”  
  
Why, when Nadine said it like that, did he think she was wishing a complete and total system meltdown upon him? Tenderly, reverently, he closed his computer and put it away into its extra-padded laptop condominium. With so many beverages near by... especially seeing as how he was in the campus' busiest coffee shop, he'd rather be safe than sorry... even if that meant missing 'Cat Cam.' After all, Kitty Hussy and her unborn kittens would be there later; his peace of mind and sanity wouldn't be if anything happened to his beloved computer. 


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

All throughout Tracy and Alan's childhood, Edward had lamented how noisy his children were. Complaining, he'd spent endless hours beseeching his children to sit and read a book quietly instead of insisting upon playing tap throughout the house. Instead of solitaire, they played 'Operation,' a sign now, as he looked back, that his son would never be the CEO he had hoped for. And then there were their legendary, knock-out, drag down fights. The home's rafters would ring for hours even after his heirs were calmed and miraculously placated. Lila had reveled in their high-strung shenanigans, but all he had wanted some peace and quiet.  
  
By the time they were old enough to go to school, Edward had already decided upon boarding school. Their leaving, though, did not silence the house as he had planned it would, for Lila was still mobile then, and their rooms were always crowded with her friends and fellow social committee members. Teas, bazaars, and balls. There had been no escaping the noise.  
  
It had seemed like just a blink of an eye before first Tracy and then Alan returned home, grown adults who, in one breath, hated him but, in the other, craved his admiration and approval. Soon, they married, divorced, and married again. Grandchildren followed, even great-grandchildren, and Edward had given up the hope of ever being able to relax in his own study, the stillness his only company. His fears, though, had been misguided. Now, he was pretty sure that he would sell his soul for a little joy and vivaciousness to fill the still corners of his empty family home. For a place as big as the Quartermaine mansion, they had far too many bedrooms unoccupied.  
  
Reclined in his favorite chair, a full, practically undisturbed tea service and breakfast bar just a few paces off to his side, the family patriarch found himself stunned by just how disturbed he was by the peace and quiet. For years, he had wanted nothing else, but, now that his wish had finally been granted, all he wanted was childish laughter and the bickering of his always cantankerous progeny. Now, though, it was just himself and Lila, Alan and Monica who remained, and his son and daughter-in-law were hardly ever at home.  
  
Oh, what he wouldn't give for a wonderful, malicious Quartermaine brawl. He would yell that someone wouldn't do something relatively harmless in his house, and then Monica would challenge him that it was her house, only to be reminded by Alan that he had given it to her. Such fights used to be the bane of his existence; now, he recalled them with the shattering sentimentality of the old, doddering fool he feared he was becoming.  
  
Dismissing his own thoughts, Edward went to return to his paper – the business section folded around and hiding the comics that lay beneath it – when the doorbell rang, its warm peels disturbing the mansion's stillness in a pleasant way. Though neither he nor Lila were expecting company that morning, the distraction would be most welcome. Still, though, he wasn't about to open his own door. That's what he had staff for, so, when their unknown guest pressed the bell once more, he grumpily tossed his paper aside.  
  
“Reginald,” he bellowed, refusing to stand from his chair. Of all the ungrateful, lazy servants, his butler took the proverbial cake. In fact, he wasn't sure what exactly the man did around the house, but he knew it wasn't a sufficient amount of work to earn his ridiculously handsome salary, not to mention the free room and board all the full-time Quartermaine household staff were offered. Someday, though, Lila wouldn't be there to shield the shiftless butler, and, when that day came, he would have a rude awakening.  
  
Realizing the terrible direction his own mind had taken him made Edward even more cross. “Damn it, Reginald! Do what we pay you for and answer that front door.”  
  
His only response was the doorbell being sounded once more. Grumbling, he stood up and marched towards the den's entranceway. Once he was looking out into the foyer, not a single servant in sight, he yelled once more. “If that worthless butler of mine can't be bothered, then it's your job, Alice, so see to my guest.” Several seconds ticked by, still no response. Raising the volume of his voice to a dizzying level, he roared, “Alice!”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“If she weren't liable to poison me at dinner tonight, I'd go into that kitchen and threaten that damn cook within an inch of her life if she didn't go out and answer the door.” Glowering and stomping his way towards the raised entry, Edward whisked the door open for himself just as the bell chimed for a fourth time. So put out was he towards his staff that, when he finally faced his visitors, Edward demanded, “what,” without really seeing who was before him. As soon as the mother and child registered, though, he felt immediately contrite.  
  
“Is this a bad time, because we can come back later,” the young woman offered, already starting to back away from him.  
  
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense,” the Quartermaine family patriarch was quick to dismiss her concerns, waving them off as he ushered the duo inside. “It's not you that I'm annoyed with. It's that terrible butler of mine.”  
  
“Reginald giving you fits again, Old Man?”  
  
He ignored both her taunting and the fact that she called him 'Old Man.' Instead, Edward smiled warmly towards his guests. “No, Carly, my dear, you know that you're always welcome here. And you brought Little Michael with you. What a wonderful surprise.”  
  
“Well, I thought that Lila might like to spend the afternoon with him,” the multiple divorcee said in reply. Though he didn't believe a single word that was coming out of her painted mouth, there was no way he was going to accuse her of lying. One false move, and she'd take the first chance he'd really had in years to spend time with his great-grandson away faster than he could say 'trailer trash.' As the silence stretched between them, though, Carly obviously felt the need to say something more. “Plus, I really haven't been feeling well the past few days.”  
  
“Oh, you're not sick, are you,” he asked in what he hoped sounded like a genuinely concerned tone. “If you want me to, I could call either Alan or Monica and have them come home to look you over.”  
  
“No, thanks, I'll be fine,” she assured him. “I probably just ate something that had gone bad. You know, I'm not the best cook in the world.”  
  
Now, why didn't he find that to be a shocking statement? “We can't all be good at everything. As Lila can attest to, I'm horrible at gardening. Why, if I even look at one of her roses the wrong way, I swear the plant will die.”  
  
“Edward Quartermaine has a black thumb, huh,” Carly taunted him. “And here, all these years, I had thought it was a black heart.”  
  
Why, the insufferable wench was mocking him while, at the same time, asking him for a favor. Not that he considered spending time with Michael a favor, per say, but, because of their history, one could see the blonde's sudden arrival on his doorstep with her son in hand as such a thing. It was because her appearance at his home was so sudden and unexpected that he remained quiet, though, and allowed her to say whatever she wanted to disparage against his character.  
  
Finally, he responded, “if you're not feeling well, Carly, you really shouldn't be worrying about me. Go home. Take a nap. Have a cup of tea. Do whatever it is you enjoy doing when you're feeling poorly. Lila and I will look after Michael for you today. Consider it our pleasure.”  
  
“But, when I return to pick him up, you'll hand him over to me without a fight, right?”  
  
“You have my word,” he pledged to her solemnly.  
  
“That's what I'm afraid of,” the tramp mumbled as she eyed him warily. Several tense moments passed, but, eventually, she said, “go find your Grandma Lila, Michael. I'm sure she's upstairs.” And the little boy took off like a rocket, shooting up the Quartermaine's grand circular stairway as though he spent every afternoon in their presence. Once he was gone, Carly regarded him closely, narrowing her gaze. “I'll be back no later than five. Oh, and don't try to feed him any of your fancy, high brow food. He doesn't like it.”  
  
“I have spent time with children before, raised two of my own in fact.”  
  
“Yeah, you, Lila, the nannies, and the staffs of the best boarding schools your money could pay for. Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, Old Man. Five o'clock.”  
  
He shut the door behind her as she left, barely restraining his annoyance until after the barrier was sealed. “Sick my foot,” he complained under his breath, already moving towards the steps that would take him to his beloved wife and great-grandson. “You probably went and got yourself knocked up again, Carly.”

} ~ {

Little, snotty, stuck-up Robin Scorpio was hiding something. His suspicions had all started after a rather slow first few weeks on the job at GH. Sure, there had been several gun shot wounds to the head, but they weren't accidental. Rather, they were of the mob execution style, so, really, there was very little that he could do other than remove the bullet and hope that it helped the police but the bastards away who continued to perpetrate such crimes. So, between pronouncing gang-bangers and mafia henchmen dead, he had decided to sort through, organize, and study all of his predecessor's old file. There had been one case in particular that he found captivating.  
  
Blunt force trauma to the head and what should have proven to be an irreversible coma caused by a young man's skull connecting with a tree trunk after being expelled from a vehicle driven by his drunk, alcoholic of a brother. However, well past when the doctors had given up, the patient had proven beyond resilient and woken up, all his memories gone and his personality forever altered. The man's name was familiar, too. Jason Morgan. Even in New York City, the mob enforcer had been known. Now that he was in Port Charles, he heard mentions of the dangerous criminal constantly.  
  
Between boredom, curiosity, and frustration – despite numerous apologies to Doctor Scorpio and assurances that he wasn't practicing his lecherous seduction show upon her cousin, her words not his, the woman still refused to speak with him, he had finally been driven to seeking out more information about the infamous local case. When he questioned the nursing staff, though – always the best source of gossip in a hospital environment, he was shocked when they either ignored or forget to mention that the chief of staff was Morgan's biological father, that the head of Cardiology was the mother who had raised him. Instead, they laughed and told him to talk to Robin... if she didn't throw her charts at him as soon as he entered her vicinity.  
  
While he didn't want to be her best friend, and while he certainly was not interested in dating the prickly woman, contrary to what Maxie Jones believed and proclaimed loudly for all to hear, he also didn't want to constantly fear walking around a corner and being confronted with one hundred pounds of harping hostility. Despite the fact that Doctor Scorpio was the hospital's HIV/AIDS Specialist and he a neurosurgeon, eventually their paths would cross, and they would have to work together on a case. When that happened, they had to find a way to act professional around both each other and their patient. For that reason, he was at his wits end on how he was ever going to get her to not attempt to kill him with metaphorical daggers every time they came into contact with one other.  
  
Add to that the fact that, in all honestly, he really did enjoy bantering with her, and it was no wonder that he was being driven to seeking out distractions, and he knew that the Morgan case was nothing but a way to divert his attentions. Professionally speaking, Jason's situation was fascinating, but it was also rare. The chances of Patrick ever seeing an injury similar enough to warrant such close and scrutinizing attention were extremely unlikely. However, still, it was his excuse to drop by the opposite side of the hospital – as the nurses had dubbed it, Team Scorpio's side.  
  
“Knock, knock,” he said as he poked his head into the brunette's office. When she simply glanced up from her paperwork to glare at him, he held his hands up in surrender. “I come in peace.”  
  
“Why do I find that so hard to believe?”  
  
“Because you're a pessimistic bitch who thinks the worst of everyone,” he answered smoothly, “no offense, of course.”  
  
Leaning back in her chair, Robin crossed her arms over her chest. “In order to take offense, I'd have to care what you think, and we both know that I don't.” Almost unwillingly, his eyes dropped to her low dipping shirt, and he momentarily admired the small glimpse of the other doctor's cleavage that he received by the movement before he realized just whose cleavage he was staring at. “What do you want, Drake?”  
  
“I actually have a case that I want to discuss with you.”  
  
Instantly seriously, she demanded, “you've had a neurology patient admitted who's HIV positive? All such patients are supposed to be flagged and immediately reported to me. I haven't heard anything.”  
  
“No, it's nothing like that,” Patrick dismissed her worry. “Actually, the case that I'm wondering about is one that you weren't professionally involved in. Rather, it was personal.”  
  
He watched amazed as Doctor Scorpio launched herself out of her chair so quickly it rolled backwards on its wheels to slam into the bookshelves behind her desk. “You have no right to poke your nose into my records.”  
  
Vehemently, he defended himself. “I didn't!”  
  
“Then, what? Someone told you about Stone, so you went and pulled his files?”  
  
Exasperated, he threw up his hands. “No! And, for that matter, who the hell is Stone? Another annoying, interfering cousin? Please don't tell me that Maxie named her kid that.”  
  
His words had apparently confused her. “What kid? Maxie doesn't have a kid.”  
  
“The little girl you dropped off a few weeks ago when you ran into us at Kelly's together,” Patrick replied. “I thought she was her daughter.”  
  
“No, that's my daughter, and her name is Cate.”  
  
“Oh, so is Stone her father or something,” he asked, still seeking an explanation as to why his coworker was even more confrontational than usual. And he hadn't even tried to piss her off!  
  
“Cate's adopted. I have no idea who her father is.”  
  
“Wow,” he whispered, surprising himself when he sat down in the chair positioned across from Robin's desk. “So, you're a single mother... by choice?” Before she could respond, he also asked, “you still haven't told me who this Stone guy is yet?”  
  
“He's someone from my past, and he's dead. That's all you get to know.” Despite the fact that he was now seated, Doctor Scorpio still refused to retake her own chair. “What's this about some patient from the past that I was involved with personally?”  
  
“Jason Morgan.”  
  
Shocking him, she smiled. “Oh, that's not a problem. I should have known that you would want to talk to me about Jason's case once you found it in Tony's records.” Practically pleasant, Robin questioned, “so, what is it exactly that you want to know?”  
  
“After you little melt down, I really can't remember.”  
  
“Well, in that case....” Sitting back down, she said, “I really have a lot of work to do. When you can have a list of queries ready for me, send me an email. I'll answer what I feel comfortable revealing. I'm warning you, though, despite the fact that we broke up and haven't seen each other in years, I still consider Jason a friend. There are some things that I won't feel right revealing to you.”  
  
“Wait,” he told her, leaning forward. “Did you just say... broke up? Are you telling me that prim and proper, stick up her ass Doctor Robin Scorpio dated the town bad boy?”  
  
“And lived with him,” she replied smugly. “And helped him raise his... well, a baby for about a year or so. Why?”  
  
“You're just full of surprises, that's all.”  
  
She nodded in recognition of his words. “If there's nothing else then....”  
  
Responding to the cue she provided him with, Patrick stood. Before he could reach the door, though, he paused to turn around once more. “Actually, I do have one question that you could answer for me right now.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“Whether I like you or not, whether I think you're a pain in the ass or not, you're still an intelligent woman.”  
  
“Watch the compliments, Drake, or I'll think that you need a neurosurgeon.”  
  
Ignoring her taunt, he persisted, asking, “why in hell would you choose to go into such a thankless speciality? I mean, come on – HIV/AIDS Research? Really? Talk about a thankless, fatalistic career choice.”  
  
For several moments, she remained silent, pointedly observing him as though looking for some sort of sign. Finally, she said, “my ex, Stone, the one whom I said died?” He nodded to show her that he remembered. “He was my first... everything.” Patrick raised his eye brows in shock, astonished that such an ice queen would admit something so private and personal to him. “He also died from AIDS. I chose my speciality for him... and for all the other women out there who are HIV positive like myself. Somebody has to believe that it isn't a thankless, fatalistic career choice if we ever want there to be a cure found.”  
  
Speechless, he walked away from her without even a single backwards glance or an acknowledgement of her revelation. He was stunned, ashamed of his own actions and comments towards the other doctor, and completely and totally beyond words. It didn't help matters either that Robin knew exactly what her little confession had accomplished. He could tell by the sly, smug little grin transforming her otherwise impassive countenance that she had made her announcement with the hope of knocking him off his guard. Well, she had certainly met her goal, but, now, he had no idea how to act around her. Never before had someone ever thrown him so far off his game. The experience was... life altering.

} ~ {

Had the brandy sniffer he rolled around in his palm been filled three or four times that evening? Had he had dinner yet? Did he even want dinner, or did he just want to drink himself into lonely oblivion once again that night? Sonny knew that, when he went home later, he didn't have to go alone. He could find temporary company for the evening, an anonymous bedmate who would leave discreetly come morning before he even awoke. But he didn't place the call. Hell, if he really felt like relieving tension, he knew that, baited enough, Carly would come to him. He just wasn't sure if his misery was in the mood for company that night.  
  
“Why aren't we meeting at the penthouse,” Jason asked him as he took the only other seat available at Sonny's table. It was positioned strategically at the gangster's left, leaving his right side open so he could pull his own weapon and his view unobstructed of the rest of the restaurant. “You hate talking business in public, unsecured places.”  
  
Dismissively, he answered, “the penthouse is having some work done.” Though it chapped to have to dance to _his_ employee's impertinent tune, Sonny also knew that, if he didn't respond, all his enforcer had to do was ask a question or two and his own men who were still loyal to Jason would tell him whatever he wanted to know. He felt that it was better if he revealed some information rather than remain mum and have his former second go sniffing around where he didn't belong. The last thing he wanted was for Jason to know he had ransacked his own home, let alone that he had drunkenly shared a wild, rough night of sex with Carly, his ex-wife. Again.  
  
“Why did you want to see me?”  
  
“I want to know where the hell you've been for the past month,” he exploded, pounding a closed fist, the one not holding his drink, down roughly against the tablecloth covered dining surface. The little lantern in the middle shook dangerous, almost toppling over. “Days after our last meeting, the men said you disappeared and nobody's seen you since.”  
  
“Until tonight.”  
  
“And that's only because I put the word out that you either came in on your own or I'd come out and find you myself.”  
  
Sonny watched as Jason folded his arms casually across his chest, the other man's plain blue t-shirt pulling taunt with the movement. “I've been doing what you _told_ me to do. I've been spending time with Johnny Zacchara, working with him.”  
  
Though it was what he had wanted, the words still made Sonny feel on edge. Perhaps it was the fact that Jason said working with instead of training. In the end, though, it didn't matter, because Anthony had been quiet for the past few weeks, meaning he must have been satisfied with the enforcer's attentions regarding his son and heir, effectively removing the other don's weight from Sonny's back. “How much longer do you think it's going to take?”  
  
“Hard to tell. After all, in this business, one never knows what kind of unimaginably complicated and horrendous situation will arise. Per your _orders_ , I have to make sure that Johnny is ready for anything. Right?”  
  
It was startling to hear Jason talk to much, not to mention so rudely, but he had more important things on his mind than teaching the younger man some manners. In a few months' time, less if he could somehow figure out a way to null and void his deal with Zacchara, his enforcer would leave town again, and Sonny wouldn't have to worry about the unsteady way Jason now made him feel. Still, though, despite the distance between them, when it came to protecting his personal life, there was no one that he could trust more. It was for that reason and that reason alone that he dared to mention Alexis and the baby.  
  
“I think that _my wife_ might try to keep _my_ child from me.”  
  
“Which wife,” Jason questioned darkly, fairly spitting out his words. “Which kid?”  
  
Glaring at him, Sonny accused, “you know damn well that I'm talking about Alexis and our unborn daughter. Carly and I are divorced.”  
  
“So, does that mean that you're no longer Michael's father?”  
  
Ignoring the inquiry, he returned to his own concerns. “Several weeks ago, Alexis went into premature labor. She didn't even ask me to go to the hospital with her.” He chose to turn a blind eye towards the fact Robin had tried to call him on his wife's behalf at least a dozen times; he had just been too drunk and then too sexually satisfied after fucking Carly to answer his phone. “They stopped the baby from coming, but, now, because she's high risk, she's on bed rest.”  
  
“There's nothing more frightening to a parent than the prospect of losing a child.”  
  
If he didn't know any better, Sonny would have sworn that Jason was talking from some kind of personal experience beyond helping Carly with a sick, newborn Michael. “She's not sleeping in her own bed, though, or mine; she's staying with Candyboy.”  
  
“Jax is back in town, huh,” his enforcer questioned rather blandly. “It's funny how many skeletons from your closet just keep popping back up. First Anthony and the deal you made with him. Then you called me back to town. Now Jax. Is there anything else I should know about, Sonny?”  
  
“If you'd quit making smart ass remarks, that's what I'm trying to tell you,” he snapped, nearly clenching his brandy sniffer to the point where he could feel its glass trembling near its breaking point between his fingers. When Jason remained quiet and didn't respond, he continued, “the day after the scare, Jax brought divorce papers over, and his lawyer keeps having me served with new copies, practically everyday. I think that asshole is trying to steal my kid from me.”  
  
“Only the worst kind of monsters go after children,” Jason sympathized. “And to take a child from its biological parents to be raised by strangers, such men need put down like the animals they are.”  
  
Sonny could feel the blood drain from his own face as he blanched in momentary horror, but, quickly, he regained his composure. After all, there were only three people in the world who knew the details of his deal with Anthony, and he, Zacchara, and Carly were certainly not talking. There was no possible way that the younger man knew what had happened to his own children. “So, you'll help me.”  
  
“Just keep me posted,” Jason told him as he stood up from the table. Fascinated, Sonny watched as his enforcer removed his glock from the back of his pants, checked it over, and then shoved the lethal weapon back away under his shirt. Meeting his gaze once more, Jason said, “no matter what's changed between us, Sonny, I know that, if the roles were reversed, you'd never allow anything to happen to my kids, so I won't let anything happen to yours.”  
  
As soon as the door slammed behind the retreating enforcer, Sonny drained his glass of brandy and signaled for another. The expensive liquor, though, did nothing to quell his sudden sense of dread.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Being inside Diane Miller's office building was making Maxie consider renting her own office... someday. Of course, she'd have to wait until her new up and coming fashion line started showing some profit (unless she could convince the computer nerd to pay for the work space for her), but, in the meantime, she could start planning the décor. It would be light and airy, perhaps even slightly whimsical. Whites. Powder Blues. Silvers. And, depending upon the day, she would dress to fit her schedule. If she had nothing but sketching to do, she'd blend into her office, but, if she were expecting clients, it would be bright, bold, yet complimentary colors so that she would stand out as the shining crown jewel of the entire room.  
  
Now, she'd require more than just the usual office set up; a desk, a few chairs, and some fake books that opened to reveal a wall safe just wouldn't be enough for her. She'd require a fitness area – treadmill, stair climber, elliptical machine. After all, her best ideas often came to her while she was at the gym... but perhaps that was because of the eye candy. Whatever. If she required buff hunks to brainstorm, then she'd just hire some of them to decorate her office, too. Besides, even if she didn't use the equipment herself, The Jackass could certainly use a work out or two every decade or so. If they were still working together at that point, he'd have to shape up or hide in the closet when clients dropped by.  
  
Then, there would be the other office necessities – a luxurious bathroom complete with every single amenity a diva could possibly need or want when getting ready, an un-stocked kitchen where she could keep champagne, coffee, and expensive bottled water, and a small sleeping station. Once she was rich, famous, and desired above all others in Port Charles, it would be important for her to always appear well rested, especially when going out at night. If she was going to be the elite member of the town's society, the person that all others used to determine trends, then afternoon cat naps would be a must.  
  
However, the biggest difference between Miss Miller's office and her own inevitable suite in the future would be her own lack of a greeting geek. Spinelli might be a genius, and maybe he was just the thing she needed to make it to the big times, but, as the first thing a person saw when walking into a room, he was certainly off putting. Mismatched and messy, The Jackass definitely did not put forth a professional vibe, and everyone who was anyone knew that vibes meant everything. Vibes were the difference between becoming another Bloomingdales and already being Bergdorf Goodmans.  
  
“Nerd, shouldn't you be off hiding in a closet somewhere, playing... I don't know... Castles and Warlords or something?”  
  
“It's Dungeons and Dragons, and the closet doesn't have a very good wi-fi signal,” Damien responded, not even looking up from the dictated page he was typing up. “So, fail.”  
  
“The fact that you just used 'fail' as a comeback means that you yourself are an epic fail.”  
  
Pinning her with a pointed glare, he asked, “in accordance, doesn't that mean that you would be an 'epic fail' yourself?”  
  
Trapped by her own insults! Stomping her designer clad foot in a fit of impatience and frustration, Maxie demanded, “would you just get to the point already.”  
  
“Oh, Evil Blonde One, how your intelligence has deserted you, for it was you who darkened my doorway; The Jackal did not seek you out, and The Jackal, most gratefully, does not have the power to infiltrate your convoluted mind.”  
  
“In English, Spinelli!”  
  
“I didn't start this,” he protested, raising his voice. “You were the one who came here. What do _you_ want?”  
  
“Oh,” she said in realization. Damn, the nerd was right. “Here,” she announced, holding up the shoe box she carried. Before The Jackass could respond or even hold up his hands in the silent agreement to take the burden from her, she tossed it to him, barely missing his computer screen and nicking his forehead with one of the box's corners. “Crap. An inch lower and I would have gotten your eye.”  
  
Instead of becoming huffy with indignation, the geek became saddened. “You know, I've always wanted an eye patch. Granted, The Jackal could go out and procure himself one without having proper, just cause of donning the classic, piratical accessory, but, because of my vast experience in the on-line gaming world and with hacking, I loath the pretenders to the throne, those who claim greatness only to fall at the feet of my codes in mediocre shame and mortification.”  
  
“So, I take it your online profile states that you're weird, in need of a hair cut, and have putrid breath, right?”  
  
Spinelli breathed into his hand and then inhaled the remnants of his own breath. “I do not!”  
  
“Listen, Jackass, when's my website going to be up and running? I need to begin lining up public appearances and various means of advertisement, so a start-up date would be nice.”  
  
“Oh, well, you're lucky that I'm only attending summer session right now. I have a much lighter course load,” he informed her.  
  
“And that translates into what time-wise? Days? Weeks? If you say a month or longer, I'll find out where you live and destroy all your nerdly distractions while you're sleeping.”  
  
“The Evil Blonde One in my humble abode while I'm somnolent with slumber,” Damien questioned eagerly, evidently not at all scared of her threat, the fool. “If you warn me before you take your foray into the heady world of breaking and entering, I'll prepare for your visit and don my birthday suit in your honor.”  
  
Maxie gagged. “You're so lucky I just bought a new pair of jeans yesterday, because I haven't eaten anything since in preparation of wearing them out to the clubs tonight.”  
  
“You're going dancing,” the nerd inquired timidly. Yet, she could hear the interest lacing his squeaky, high-pitched, grating voice. “Perhaps The Flighty Fashionista is unaware of this fact, but The Jackal has been known to cut a rug or two in the past. In fact,” he started to push out of his chair. “If you will allow me to demonstrate....”  
  
“Park it,” she ordered, pointing at him and then insinuating with her index finger that he should sit back down. “You've already insulted my stomach with thoughts of you naked. There's no reason to attack my eyes as well.” Petulantly, she placed a manicured fist against a strategically popped out hip. “A date, Jackass.”  
  
“Oh, the site shall be ready in two more weeks, seventeen days at the most.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
As she moved to leave, pivoting on her stiletto heel, the president of the geek squad called out, “wait! The Jackal had some ideas for your advertising campaign.”  
  
Turning back around to face him, she ordered, “shoot.”  
  
“Well, you see, I have several amigos on campus who produce their own blog shows which stream live online. Using my connections, I'm sure they would allow us to pimp your products during their commercial breaks.”  
  
“Friends of yours, you say,” she queried. Spinelli nodded his head most emphatically. In response, Maxie said, “first of all, I find it shocking that you have any friends in the first place. Secondly, taking for granted that I believe you about these so called friends... which I don't, I highly doubt anyone who knows you and who runs a blog show would ever have an audience who would wear high fashion. Hell, they'd probably think that high fashion is a pair of pants that they're supposed wear up to their armpits vs. just their man boobs.”  
  
“You know, you are a very judgmental, close minded witch,” he attempted to insult her, crashing and burning.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Fine, if my contacts aren't good enough for you, perhaps you'll be able to meet other blog show hosts when you start school in the fall,” the nerd suggested.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Well, The Jackal just assumed that... given your age... I mean....” In his nervousness, Spinelli started to mess with his already rumpled hair, pushing and smoothing it across his forehead. “Won't The Evil Blonde One be starting classes at PCU in the fall? They have several highly rated areas of study which would dovetail superbly with your future career plans. Why, I even took the liberty of stopping by the admissions department for you and procuring several brochures and application forms.” As he started to rummage through his desk drawers, he muttered, “just let me find wherever it was that I put....”  
  
“Don't bother,” she said crisply, regaining his attention.  
  
Sitting back up, Damien demanded, “and why ever not?”  
  
“Because I'm _never_ going back to school. I graduated from high school – barely. That was plenty for me, thanks. So, no matter what you do and no matter what my Uncle Mac says, this chick is not college bound.”  
  
“Oh, well, The Jackal... sees.”  
  
“Excellent,” Maxie praised, already on her way out of the building. “See you soon, Jackass,” she called over her shoulder.  
  
He didn't respond, but she refused to allow his suddenly hangdog frown to rain on her Macy's parade. Why the news that she wouldn't be rushing that fall depressed the geek so much, she didn't know, and, frankly, she didn't care. He'd get over it. In the meantime, she had designs to complete, a kid to entertain, advertisements to line up, connections to make, and the hottest pair of jeans to wear when she went out drinking that night. Life was good.

} ~ {

The end of another shift.  
  
She had been working at GH for more than three weeks now, but, still, it felt odd. It wasn't the fact that she saw and avoided Patrick every day after spending years of her life as his quasi-girlfriend. It wasn't the fact that she was currently fodder for every single gossip mill the hospital had to offer... which was many. And it wasn't the fact that her grandmother wasn't speaking to her. Not that she cared precisely, for her relationship with Audrey had crumbled long ago, but, given different circumstances, their distance and lack of communication would have been weird. No, what made nursing at General Hospital a strange experience was that she wasn't falling back into her old habits.  
  
She didn't sleep in the on-call room, hoping for an extra shift. She didn't live for emergencies and twelve hour long surgeries. She didn't ostracize herself from her colleagues, and she had even gone out and purchased a pair of pink scrubs the day before. Willingly or not, being back in Port Charles was making her live again... or maybe it was being around Jason which gave her the courage to leave her former shell of a personality behind.  
  
Oh, it wasn't an instant and amazing transformation. She was still chilly and distant, and she still worked more hours than she should, than were necessary, but she ate in the cafeteria instead of hiding out on the roof or in a nearly abandoned stairwell, and sporadically, Elizabeth even caught herself smiling. While she still avoided any and all cases that had to do with babies and pregnant mothers, she no longer made children cry. It felt like improvement.  
  
She was done for the day, though, so, as she threw her various nursing paraphernalia into her locker and prepared to change, she also tossed her emotional baggage into the small, secure space, too. When she left work that afternoon, her plan was to also leave her thoughts behind as well. Jason would be picking her up. Though their relationship was still unsteady, they were getting to the point where their silences weren't as tense and where they could actually enjoy each other's company once more. They would go for rides, and they would play pool together at Jake's – simple, uncomplicated interactions that did not force them to confront their past.  
  
“So, who was the hottie on the motorcycle?”  
  
So lost in her own mind that she didn't hear anyone enter the locker room behind her, Elizabeth was caught off guard. With heart racing and her breath elevated, she whirled around to find a pretty, blonde nurse leaning expectantly towards her, a grin upon her friendly mouth and a conspiratorial twinkle illuminating her pale blue eyes. “Excuse me?”  
  
“This morning, the guy who dropped you off,” her co-worker encouraged. “I was coming in at the same time, and I saw the two of you. Who is he?” Before she could respond, the other woman blushed, slapped her own forehead, and then took a step forward, her hand thrust out. “I'm such a Rude Regina. Sorry. My name's Nadine. I should have introduced myself weeks ago, but things have been crazy, and there never seemed to be a good time to come up and talk to you, and... you're kind of distant, do you know that?”  
  
“Yeah, it's something I'm working on.” Shaking the proffered palm, she returned, “and I'm Elizabeth.”  
  
“Oh, I know that already. This hospital has been talking about you since you walked through the front doors three weeks ago for your first shift.”  
  
“And the legacy of Amy Vining continues,” she mumbled under her breath. At Nadine's confused expression, she raised her voice. “So, what have the rumor mills had to say about me.”  
  
The other woman's blush deepened. “Oh, well... I don't really....” With wide, embarrassed eyes, she blurted out, “that you were raped at fifteen; dated a kid named Lucky Spencer who died in a fire; got yourself mixed up with the local bad boy mafia enforcer - I'm kind of dating a mob heir myself, so I personally know that particular can of worms; that you might have then had an affair with Sonny Corinthos; that you left town mysteriously; that you were also involved with our new cad of a neurosurgeon; and that you were once an artist. That's it... I think.”  
  
“Ew, Sonny, never!”  
  
She had to hide her amusement when the blonde nurse's mouth popped open. “Everything else is true, though?”  
  
“More or less.”  
  
“Wow.” For several quiet moments, Nadine processed the information. When it seemed as though she wasn't going to say anything more, Elizabeth returned to the task of undressing and preparing to leave. “So, the Harley Hunk?”  
  
“Jason Morgan,” she replied without pause or hesitation, “local _alleged_ bad boy mafia enforcer... or, at least, he used to be. Now, I'm really not sure what his job title would be. It's confusing, but, if you're dating a mob heir, then you'll understand that well enough yourself.”  
  
“Yeah...?”  
  
Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “you did say that, didn't you, that you were seeing someone with ties to that world?”  
  
“I am... I think,” Nadine confessed, collapsing down to sit upon the bench that cut down the center of the aisle between the two rows of lockers. “I don't know. It's just... well, you see, I'm getting divorced. And I'm a mother. And Johnny doesn't want anything to do with his father's business... at least, that's what he tells me. Don't you think I'm, if not too old, then too much of a homemaker to say that I'm dating?”  
  
Of all the things the other woman had said, Elizabeth only heard just one. “Johnny... as in Johnny Zacchara?”  
  
“The one and only,” Nadine responded. “Why? Do you know him?”  
  
“Hello, Jason Morgan is the....” As her words trailed off, Elizabeth blanched. She had almost said that he was the father of her children – out loud, in public, and to a near stranger. “... Harley Hunk who brings me to work, remember? Of course I've heard of him. Ask your boyfriend in return. Johnny will tell you that he knows Jason as well.”  
  
Shrugging, her new acquaintance said, “maybe I will. And maybe I'll suggest that we go for a bike ride sometime, too. It looks fun.”  
  
“It's the best feeling in the world,” Elizabeth confessed sincerely. “You'll love it.”  
  
“I wouldn't be too sure about that, especially if the person who is driving with you drives his bike like Jason does... or, at least, like he used to. Elizabeth Webber, right,” a new arrival asked, intruding and once more offering a hand in Elizabeth's direction. “I'm Robin....”  
  
“Scorpio,” she finished for her. “Yeah, I remember.” It felt awkward – after all, Robin was Jason's ex, and she was Jason's... whatever the hell she was to him, but, with Nadine glancing back and forth curiously between them, Elizabeth knew she couldn't simply ignore the other woman. There would be no graceful, dodging escape. She'd have to fumble her way through an uncomfortable conversation. “So, you didn't like riding on Jason's motorcycle?”  
  
“Hated it,” the HIV/AIDS Research Specialist answered.  
  
“So, wait,” Nadine wanted to know. “Are you saying that you dated this Jason Morgan guy, too, Robin?”  
  
“A long time ago, but, yes, I did.”  
  
Biting her lip, the blonde moaned, “oh, how do I get myself into these situations?”  
  
“No, it's okay,” Robin assured her. “Jason and I... it's fine. There's no hard feelings, we've both moved on, and you have no reason to be embarrassed. Besides, you two were having a private conversation which I butted in on. If anyone said something she shouldn't have, it was me.”  
  
“No, it's fine,” Elizabeth assured her. Wanting to take the discussion back to something safe, she questioned, “why didn't you like riding? I just went and told Nadine she should try it, but I guess it'd only be fair if she heard from both sides of the coin. For me, it's the closest thing to being truly free.”  
  
“You sound just like Jason,” Robin informed her, “but maybe that's why I didn't like it. I felt like, when I was on the back of his bike, I had absolutely no control. Everything was just too fast, too dangerous, too wild. If we took a turn the wrong the way or hit gravel, that could have been all she wrote.” Turning towards the other nurse, the doctor said, “I guess it'll just depend upon how comfortable you are with trying new things, with taking risks.”  
  
“Well, I guess it's like what my Aunt Rayleen always said about love – you can't fall until you jump. I won't know until I try, right, and, after marrying a prince, divorcing a prince, and somehow finding myself somewhat tricked into going out the Zacchara heir, going for a ride on a motorcycle doesn't seem like that big of gamble.”  
  
“Wait, you're the woman who Nikolas married,” Elizabeth questioned as she slammed her locker shut, finally ready to leave. “My best friend, Emily, was his first wife. We were friends for years before he... before I... well, before things changed.”  
  
“And even before that I helped him regain his voice after he was shot in Luke's parking lot.”  
  
Gaping, Nadine stared at them. “And I thought I originally came from a small town! Is everybody in this town connected somehow?”  
  
Simultaneously, Elizabeth and Robin said, “oh yeah.”  
  
“Well, then, the three of us definitely need to get together sometime for dinner... or for drinks. We have men to discuss.”  
  
“Boys,” Robin corrected her.  
  
Grinning evilly, Elizabeth moved to walk away. “I guess that means someone wants to discuss Patrick Drake.” As she left, the sound of Nadine's laughter and Robin's emphatic protestations waved her goodbye.

} ~ {

“Isn't this the CEO's office,” Nikolas asked as he waltzed up to the desk which Claudia was seated behind. “Where's Jax?”  
  
“He's off playing nursemaid to his ex-wife, your aunt, I believe.”  
  
“Leaving you here in charge of making sure no foxes get into his hen house, huh? It looks like you failed, Miss Zacchara.”  
  
Ignoring his taunt, she levered one of her own. “Look at this – the prince using peasant references. Have you ever even seen a chicken coop before?”  
  
“Thankfully, not even on TV.”  
  
As he sat down across from her, arrogantly crossing his right leg over his left, she questioned, “what can I do for you this evening, Mr. Cassadine?”  
  
“Your secretary?”  
  
Smiling, Claudia answered, “gone for the night.”  
  
“Well, then, what you can do for me is push aside those papers your working on, take off your panties, and get up on top of your boss' desk... after we discuss a little business first, of course.”  
  
As he waited for her response, she stood and sauntered around to lean against the edge of her work space. Allowing his lifted leg to fall and then for both of them to spread far enough apart for her to stand between them, Nikolas watched as the woman before him spread her own legs slightly, her skin tight suit skirt lifting in the process. “But I'm not wearing any panties,” she confessed sultrily. And he could see that agreeable fact for himself. “As for business, are we talking about yours, mine, or ours?”  
  
“Ours. Is there really any other kind at this point?”  
  
“Touche,” Claudia retorted with a pleased grin before sobering quickly and getting down to brass tacks. “Unfortunately, though, compared to my dear old dad, my brother is practically squeaky clean.”  
  
“Compared to, practically,” he repeated. “To me, those sound like qualifiers.”  
  
“Well, if there's two things I'm good at, it's digging up dirt on my adversaries and....” Without finishing her statement, she lifted a red stiletto clad foot and trailed it up his leg only to settle it tightly against his crotch. The pressure she applied only heightened his steadily increasing arousal.  
  
“Please don't tell me that Johnny skipped out on jury duty once or that he has a whole glove box filled with unpaid parking tickets.”  
  
“While both might be true, I tried to limit my energies to uncovering more damning information,” Claudia answered. “How do the words 'illegal adoptions' sound to you?”  
  
“If they go along with the words 'stolen children,' then I'd say it's time for your reward, Miss Zacchara.”  
  
Thirty minutes later, Nikolas walked out of Jacks Enterprises with his clothes in disarray and more than one hickey on his neck. Better than the sexual relief, though, he also left with Claudia's promise to keep digging into her little brother's past. All he needed was proof of the rumors she had unearthed, and then he would ruin Johnny Zacchara once and for all. Nobody went after Emily's son, certainly not his soon-to-be hick of an ex-wife. If she thought some local criminal was man enough to pull one over on him, then she had another thing coming. After all, he was a Cassadine, and Cassadines never lost.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

“Was it really necessary for us to meet all the way out here?” Johnny knew that he was complaining, but, really, he and Jason Morgan were currently standing in the middle of nowhere, and it had been raining more on than off for the past week – heavy, choking summer rains that hinted at relief from the humidity only to end with the rumbling laugh of thunder hanging in the moisture laden air. The old path he had precariously driven his sports car down was nothing put mud and pot holes turned into gigantic mud puddles. “What is this place anyway?”  
  
“It's an old abandoned estate, been in ruin for years. Nobody comes out here anymore. That's why we're here – so the men your father has watching you won't realize that we're meeting.”  
  
“I know, I know. We want him to think that you're failing to live up to Sonny's promise so that he'll go after Corinthos, but, still, you're paying to have my car detailed,” the younger man warned.  
  
“Just wash it yourself,” was Jason's offhand, dismissive reply.  
  
Elevating his teasing tone to a level of mocking threat, Johnny added, “and, if my car gets stuck, you're paying for the towing bill.”  
  
“Look, there's another reason why it was important no one saw us together today.”  
  
“Okay, so you have my attention.” Moving forward to lean against the side of the old bridge, he asked, “what's going on?”  
  
Without meeting his gaze, Jason revealed, “I have some information about the deal your father made with Sonny. It's something you're not going to like.”  
  
“Now, there's a shocker.”  
  
“You were right when you said that Diane would be able to and would be willing to help me.”  
  
“Just give it to me straight,” he requested, folding his hands together and squeezing tightly. “I already know that my father is a monster, so, whatever he's done now, I won't be surprised.”  
  
Jason paced away. “Before I tell you what Anthony did, you need to know a little bit about my history.” Turning to watch him, Johnny nodded in acceptance and then folded his arms over his chest to wait and listen patiently. “For a year, I helped a friend raise her son, claiming him as my own, loving him as my own. Eventually, though, the truth came out, and this friend ended up sleeping with Sonny. I wasn't in love with her, but it hurt. At the same time, I became really close to another woman. Her name's Elizabeth.”  
  
Rubbing a hand over his face, Jason sighed. “On the night that I saw Sonny with Carly, I had been shot and went to his penthouse for help. I didn't stay. Eventually, I made my way to this old boxcar out in the woods, and, somehow, Elizabeth found me. She got me help, took me back to her studio, and she saved my life. By the time I realized that I was in love with her, there was a bomb planted in her apartment. Luckily, I found it in time, but... it was still too late. I had already made the decision to leave town, to find whoever had done that to her and take them out once and for all. Before I left, though, we slept together.”  
  
“This is the same studio where you've been staying since you came back into town, right,” he questioned.  
  
The older man just affirmatively shook his head in answer. “Anyway, she became pregnant from that one night, but, when she went to Sonny for help in contacting me, he lied to her and sent her away. For security reasons, I had changed my number before leaving town, and he never gave the new one to her as I had asked him to either. You see, Sonny's a very selfish man. He claims to care about family, about women and children, but what that really means is that he cares about his own family: his women and his children; In his eyes, if I were to have those things for myself, then that would just distract me from taking care of the people that he loves, and Sonny can't have that.”  
  
“Trust me, I understand egomaniacal, narcissistic mob bosses. Grew up with one, remember?”  
  
“Very true,” Jason acknowledged. After a moment, he returned to his explanation. “So, this is where we come to Anthony's involvement. Like he always does, Sonny pushed off his dirty work into someone else's hands. He made a deal with your father, promising him that I would train you someday, if he would handle Elizabeth and her pregnancy.”  
  
He felt the blood drain from his face, and, despite the heat, a chill stole its way over his body, making him shiver and break out in goosebumps. “Please don't tell me that he had them killed.”  
  
“No, not exactly,” the former enforcer responded. “Elizabeth's alive and as fine as a woman can be after being told that her child is dead only to find out that her _children_ are actually alive, that they were put up for adoption without her knowledge of consent.”  
  
If it wasn't for the bridge he was leaning against, Johnny would have fallen down. “Did you just say that my father stole your children and got rid of them by putting them up for adoption?” Desperately, he queried, “when did this all happen?”  
  
“It'll be five years ago this September.”  
  
“Oh my god.” His legs did give away beneath him then, and he slid down to sit with his feet braced shoulder width apart and his head hanging between his spread knees. It felt as though there was a strong fist squeezing his heart, preventing it from working properly, and he couldn't breathe. When he spoke again, his words were rushed and breathless. “I did it. Not my father, but me. He asked for my help, and I refused at first, but he told me that it was just some unwed woman connected to one of his business associates, that she didn't want the kids, and, if I didn't do something, she'd probably end up abandoning them somewhere or mistreating them.” Braving Jason's reaction to his confession, the younger man glanced up. “It was me. I'm so sorry, so unbelievably sorry, but I swear to you that I didn't know. I had no idea.”  
  
“I believe you,” Jason said after several tense, assessing moments. “In fact, you might have saved Elizabeth and the kids' lives. If you wouldn't have agreed to handle the situation for your father, who knows who Anthony would have sent instead. They might not have gone through the trouble of putting my children up for adoption; they might not have been so... compassionate. Your father still has to pay for what he's done, though.”  
  
Rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth in a vain attempt to wipe the foul taste of swallowed bile away, Johnny stood up. “Do what you have to. I won't stop you, but I also won't commit patricide for you. I know that my father is a horrible excuse of a man, but he's still my father. I can't kill him; I can't become what he already is, what he wants me to be, not even to make up for what I've done to you, Miss Webber, and your children.”  
  
“I wouldn't ask you to.”  
  
Nodding in recognition, Johnny walked away. Though he felt that he should stay and say something more to truly express how apologetic he was, he also knew that words could not fix what he had inadvertently broken. While he might not be able to help Jason, he could help himself. He needed time, and distance, and a distraction to temporarily forget his own mistakes. In fact, what he wanted was Nadine, but, in that moment, he didn't feel worthy of her, and he sure as hell wouldn't take his own crimes and lay them at her feet, tainting her purity in the process. No, she was too special and didn't deserve to see the ugliness of his world. He just hoped that it wouldn't be his world for long.

} ~ {

Now awake, Alexis knew that she had been sleeping and dreaming just seconds before, but what she couldn't figure out is what had woken her in the first place. The penthouse was quiet, the lights still dim, and she didn't have to use the bathroom. In fact, propped up against her side with the couch's cushions and pillows molded to fit her back, she felt moderately comfortable. Still, though, despite her curiosity, she didn't open her eyes. Once she did, she would be accepting that her nap was officially over, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to throw in the towel and return to the boredom of being conscious yet.  
  
“I want you to allow me to adopt your daughter.”  
  
“What,” the attorney gasped, her lids ricocheting so wide open that, if someone were to see her, she knew they'd think that she had just had a facelift. “What did you just say?”  
  
“I said that I want to adopt your baby... if you'll let me,” Jax repeated himself.  
  
Slowly, she shook her head, hoping that the movement would be successful in knocking out the last remaining cobwebs left over from her rest. “Care to run that by me again,” she finally requested when, still, her ex-husband's words did not make any sense.  
  
“While you were sleeping, I went for a run.”  
  
“Well, at least I know that you're the one who stinks. And here I thought the wild boar inside of me was making my sweat glands go haywire again.”  
  
Jax didn't even smile, let alone laugh, at her self-effacing joke. “You do realize the fact that you having a girl precludes referring to her as a wild boar, don't you? Boars are male pigs.”  
  
“Semantics,” Alexis argued. “I want you to go back to what you were talking about before. You want to adopt my daughter?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Using her arms to leverage herself into a sitting position, she said, “I'm going to need a little more of an explanation than that.”  
  
“Like I said, I was running. It always helps me think.”  
  
“That I will never understand,” she grumbled under her breath.  
  
But Jax continued undaunted. “And I thought to myself – your little girl needs a father that she can depend on, who will love her for who she is and not try to change her, who will keep her safe, and provide her with a stable, secure family. And I also realized that I want to be a dad.”  
  
“That's wonderful, and I think you'd be an amazing father, but....”  
  
“But you didn't let me finish,” he cut her off. “I realized that I want to be a dad to your daughter, that I want to be a dad only if you're my kid's mom.”  
  
“And you've just made your first parental mistake, but no parent is perfect,” the lawyer teased him, needing to add some levity to their very serious, very emotional moment.  
  
“I beg to differ, ex-wife.”  
  
Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she exclaimed, “aren't you forgetting something? He's about – oh – five foot, eight, has dark hair, dark eyes, dimples, is considered one of the most powerful organized crime bosses on the east coast. Hello, Jax! What about Sonny? He's not just going to let you adopt his child. Whether he'll be a good father or not, he thinks that he will be, and he's very territorial and possessive when it comes to what – and who - he believes to be his. Just look at what he did to A.J. over custody of Michael.”  
  
“Let me worry about Corinthos.”  
  
“You can't just drop this sort of bomb on me and then expect me to just smile and agree to allow you to handle everything. I'm not that trusting, and I'm certainly not that easily swayed. I need to think about this,” she warned him, “especially about Sonny.”  
  
“Well, don't think for too long,” Jax told her happily, “because that daughter of yours... of ours... is going to be here sooner than you realize.”  
  
“Not soon enough!”  
  
“It's been nearly a month since your false alarm, and you're out of the danger zone. You could go into labor at any second.”  
  
“Way to keep me cool, calm, and collected there, buddy of mine,” she accused him with a glower.  
  
“Oh, you're so cute when you pout.” Infuriating her further, Jax leaned down to pinch her cheek, but her annoyance didn't last for long, because, as soon as his fingers left her cheek, they slid down to her chin so that he could tip her face up towards his own. As his lips slid gently across her mouth, she felt her lashes flutter in astonishment. It wasn't until he pulled away and sauntered out the room that Alexis fully realized what had just happened.  
  
Her ex-husband had just kissed her.

} ~ {

“Did you see my roses on the way up to the house? They're beautiful this year, perhaps more beautiful than they've ever been in the past.”  
  
“You say that every summer, Anthony,” Diane responded patiently.  
  
“Yes, but I mean it this time,” he insisted. “The blooms are more vibrant, their reds deeper and more fulfilling than blood spilled by my own hands, and their whites as cold and unforgiving as the silk lining of my wife, Maria's, coffin. You didn't work for me then, but Johnny's mother, the lying slut, looked so beautiful the day that we buried her. You know, she loved roses, too.”  
  
Smiling placatingly in an effort to mask her disgust, the attorney promised, “I'll make sure I take a walk through the garden before I leave tonight.”  
  
“Well, if you do, be careful of the thorns. Some of them are big enough to slice your throat.”  
  
“Yes, well, I don't plan on making a necklace from the stems of your precious flowers,” she retorted sarcastically, “so I think I'll be okay.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” Anthony shrugged.  
  
“Please, tell me you did not call me all the way out here this evening to talk about your garden.”  
  
The mob boss moved from the patio door where he had been standing to behind his desk before taking a seat. “Not that my roses would not be worthy of your time, counselor, especially given the fact that you work for me and that I pay you exorbitant rates to do whatever it is that I want, but no. There are business matters which we need to discuss.”  
  
Using that as her cue, she took a seat across from him, opening her briefcase on her lap. “Such as?”  
  
“Such as the fact that Sonny Corinthos is living on borrowed time right now unless he somehow makes that damn enforcer of his step up and do his job.”  
  
“I'm sorry,” she apologized facetiously, “but are you upset because your rival's second in command is _not_ working enough? Anthony, I fail to see why this would displease you.”  
  
“You mock my roses, you don't listen to what I'm telling you, you make it seem as though your time is more valuable than my own. Frankly, Diane, I'm starting to worry that this relationship of ours is no longer working.”  
  
Ignoring the threat, she ordered, “tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
“I want you to go to Corinthos or that bitch of an attorney wife of his and tell him that, if Morgan doesn't start training my son like he's supposed to, then I'll have to consider our deal null and void and take the necessary steps in rectifying the situation.”  
  
“Do you know for sure that Mr. Morgan has not been working with John?”  
  
“What kind of father do you take me for,” he challenged her question. “I have men stationed at my son's apartment in town, I have guards who are to follow him wherever he goes. He's being watched; I know everything that Johnny does, and what he doesn't do is spend time learning from Corinthos' enforcer.”  
  
“John has been known to ditch his guards in the past,” she pointed out.  
  
“Like the smart boy that he is,” Anthony praised his son. “It angers me when he does such things, but it makes me proud that he is capable of fooling my best men.”  
  
“Well, then, maybe he's fooling them now, too.”  
  
“He's not,” the crime lord said emphatically. “If he was, he'd ditch his guards on his way to his little girlfriend's house. You know John. He'd want to protect Nurse Nightingale and her little girl from me, the big bad wolf.” Leaning forward to eye her closely, her boss demanded, “I think the more pertinent question here is why you're doubting me, why you keep questioning the things that I tell you?”  
  
“Because it is my job to look out for your best interests, Anthony, and going to war with Sonny Corinthos over some misunderstanding would definitely not be in your best interest.”  
  
“Says a woman who uses the law to hide behind like her mother's skirt,” he taunted her. “Who says I don't want the chance to take Corinthos out?”  
  
Standing, she said, “I'll pass the message along – either Jason Morgan trains your son as promised or else.”  
  
“Very good,” he complimented her. As she went to leave, though, Anthony sang out behind her, “Oh, Diane, aren't you forgetting something?” Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the aging mob boss smile. “My roses?”  
  
“Of course,” she agreed, already stepping towards the open patio doors. “I'll see you soon.”  
  
“Not if I see you first,” he replied cryptically.  
  
As she left through Crimson Point's gardens that evening, Diane kept one promise to her employer; as for the other one – the one about going to Sonny Corinthos and warning him on Anthony Zacchara's behalf... well, she had no intention of doing that. She'd ignore her orders and allow the chips to fall where they may. One way or another – whether by Anthony's hand or not, she was confident that Sonny Corinthos would get what he had coming to him. Hypothetically speaking, of course.  
  
It was only a matter of time.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

She needed more funding. That was the harsh, plain truth. Of course, Robin could always go to her wealthy friends – Jax, Sonny, Nikolas, Edward Quartermaine - and start a bidding war between them as they attempted to one up the other. When it came to charity, that was perhaps the only time she appreciated the delicate male ego and its proportions for competition. However, Jax was helping Alexis through the final stretch of her pregnancy; Sonny was hardly the man she remembered; Nikolas, rumor had it, had finally embraced his dark, Cassadine roots, forgetting the intervening years he had been able to spend with his much gentler mother before Laura passed away; and the Quartermaines did enough for the hospital.  
  
No, she didn't want to have to depend upon one or even four benefactors in order to acquire more money for her department. That meant she had to start using some of her precious research time to organize charities. Normally, Robin didn't bother with having a secretary. She was perfectly capable of typing up her own files, and she was self-aware enough to realize that she was too anal to allow anyone else to organize her office for her. In the past, she would have gone to Maxie for help, insisting that the other woman had more free time and better ideas anyway... both of which were true, but now her cousin really did have a budding fashion line, and it was hard enough to pin her down to watch Cate; she knew better than to think she'd be able to convince Maxie that shepherding a charity event would be beneficial to the blonde in any way.  
  
… Unless she could somehow combine all of the designer's favorite things into one central, money raising party.  
  
Unfortunately, the Nurses Ball had steadily declined after she left Port Charles. Though she knew the town's citizens still cared about the disease and helping those who suffered with it, Robin believed their lack of interest in the former fundraiser was twofold. One, when she wasn't there, living locally, there wasn't a face to the illness, people forgot that HIV and AIDS could happen to anyone – coworkers, friends, family members. Her presence alone was enough to scare them into worrying about the disease. Secondly, how many times could the same citizens gather together to watch their same next door neighbors and same casual acquaintances perform the same song and dance routine while dining out on the same tired old catered dinners? The Nurses Ball had become the expected. Not even Lucy Coe in her underwear anymore was shocking enough to cause a stir of expectation and excitement. What she needed was something fresh, new, and hip. That's why she needed Maxie.  
  
Designer shoes and clothes; makeup and jewelry; professional hair appointments; caviar and champagne; blood pumping, strut worthy music; money and society; gossiping and shopping: these were all the things that her cousin loved. If Robin wanted Maxie's help (and she desperately did), she had to find a way to combine all those staples of Maxie's life, things that she herself, on an everyday basis, had absolutely no interest in, into a single, solitary fundraiser. Plus, it wouldn't hurt her chances if she could somehow determine a way to also spin the charity so that it benefitted the blonde somehow, too. Appealing to Maxie's altruistic side would simply be a bust.  
  
“Hiding out in the stairwell, Doctor Scorpio?” The intrusion made her jump in fright, the question made her frown in annoyance, and the voice that the question belonged to immediately set her nerves on edge. “Do I really scare you that much?”  
  
Too preoccupied with her own line of thought, Robin chose not to engage her constantly verbally combative coworker. Instead, she simply answered, “when I have something important to contemplate, I like to find some place quiet to think. Alone.”  
  
“When I want to be alone, I usually find an empty supply closet, but, then again,” Patrick laughed, “when I say alone, I mean when I want to spend a few private moments with one of the nurses.”  
  
“Note to self, tell Alan to have all the supply closets sterilized and never go in for supplies unless wearing protective covering.”  
  
“Going in for supplies, huh,” he teased her. If he thought his sly grin was charming, the neurosurgeon had another thing coming. It was greasy and over-practiced, a trained whore just like he was. “That's definitely a new and original euphemism for sex. I'll have to remember it.”  
  
Finally turning to look at him, she said, “what the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“Wearing protective covering – I think it's essential, too, when entering the supply closets.”  
  
“You know, not everything is about sex, Doctor Drake.”  
  
He shrugged his shoulders. “It pretty much is. But, if you don't believe me, why don't you tell me what's on your mind, and I'll not only help you come up with a solution, but I'll also prove to you that its connected to sex somehow.”  
  
“If I tell you what's on my mind, will you go away?” When he nodded his head in accordance, she huffed, threw up her arms, and gave in. “Fine!”  
  
“Well, don't be so gracious on my account. Your appreciation of my offer is embarrassing.”  
  
Robin rolled her eyes and then ignored him. “I need more funding.”  
  
“Then go to Alan.”  
  
“You don't understand. Because the AIDS wing wasn't an original portion of the hospital for obvious reasons, the whole thing was funded by outside donations, and, since then, the department has been operated by the same means, because, frankly, GH doesn't have enough room in its budget to fund my research. We used to have a charity event called The Nurses' Ball, but it's a dull penny in a market where nothing cost less than a quarter now. I need something fresh, something new, something hip. Hence my desire for my cousin's help, because those are all things Maxie....”  
  
“Among other less appealing attributes,” Patrick grumbled under his breath.  
  
Although she didn't react, his surliness towards her cousin both surprised and surprisingly pleased her. “I'm trying to figure out something that will appeal to Maxie enough that she'll be interested in helping me out, something that, sadly enough, she'll benefit from as well, because, though I love her like a sister, I know her faults, and my cousin is not the most selfless person in the world.”  
  
“Alright, what do you have to work with,” the brain surgeon asked. “What are we talking about here? I'm sure you have something more for me to go on than just the two brief encounters I've had with her.”  
  
“Well, right now, Maxie's working on getting her own designer label started. She has a backer, and they're beginning slow with just an online store, but they have plans to expand and open boutiques as soon as the business starts showing a profit. Her biggest concern right now is advertising – getting the word out and displaying her work so that the people in this town who can afford two hundred dollar blouses and four hundred dollar cocktail dresses start shopping.”  
  
“I think that's your answer then,” he told her simply, nodding his agreement with his own announcement.  
  
“What is?”  
  
Titling his head in put-upon patience, Patrick asked, “how do other designers, even well known ones, show off their new lines every spring and fall? They have fashion shows. You just have Maxie put on a charity one where your guests can buy what they see straight off the runways, giving all the proceeds to your department. Plus, once you get all those women there, the wealthier ones will just write you checks as well. It's a win-win for everyone involved – the ladies of Port Charles get to think that they're in New York City, Maxie gets to advertise her designs, and your make money for your research. Really, it's pretty simple.”  
  
“A fashion show, of course,” she exclaimed in a somewhat dazed, shocked manner. “Why didn't I think of that? It's perfect and so obvious!”  
  
“Well, I'd like to think that this is just my superior intelligence on display.”  
  
“Dream on, Doctor Drake,” she replied bitingly. Pressing up from the step she had been sitting on, Robin stood and began her descent. “It's just your pretty-boy roots showing. You spend more time on your hair alone than I do with my entire morning routine. It only seems natural to me that one vain, appearance obsessed narcissist would recognize another. That's the only reason why you were able to get inside my cousin's mind when I couldn't.”  
  
She had been so in tune with her movements and with putting down her rival that she didn't hear him follow her, and, by the time he grabbed her by the arm, swung her around, and pressed her up against the stairwell door, it was too late for her to push him away or fight off his advances. “What...?”  
  
“Shut up,” Patrick ordered her. Lowering his voice and softening his tone, he repeated, “just shut up.”  
  
Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers, his lips soft but firm, and his tongue, insistent yet respectful at the same time, was seeking – begging – entrance into her mouth. Against her better judgment, as though her body was reacting to his touch while her mind stayed unwilling, she opened for him. When his tongue flicked against hers, she felt a surge of raw, intense, sexual adrenaline flood her system. It was intoxicating, utterly addicting, and then gone. Just as she was finally accepting that she was actually kissing the insufferable Doctor Drake, he pulled away, and she was left breathless.  
  
“You thought that by telling me that you were HIV positive that you would scare me away. Well, guess what, Miss Scorpio, I'm not scared.”  
  
“I wasn't trying... you just....” Struggling to take hold of her own thoughts, she glowered at the neurosurgeon. “I just told you what everyone else in this town already knew. It wasn't some big secret, and I certainly didn't tell you because I thought it would keep you from kissing me.”  
  
“Oh, so you admit that you have wanted me to kiss you since the moment we met?”  
  
“No,” she snapped impatiently. “That's not what I meant at all. What I meant was that... well, honestly the thought of kissing you hadn't even entered my mind. I thought you couldn't stand me the same way that I can't stand you.”  
  
“For someone who doesn't like me, that kiss was hot as hell.”  
  
“The point is,” she ignored him, “that I wasn't trying to scare you away. I didn't even know that I needed to.”  
  
Patrick backed away from her, returning to her some of her personal space. In response, Robin took a deep, thankful breath and crossed her arms over her chest. “After that kiss, you still want to frighten me off?”  
  
“More than ever.”  
  
“Not going to happen,” he challenged her.  
  
“Really?” Smiling wickedly, this time it was her turn to advance upon him. Lifting one index finger to poke into the center of his hard, toned chest, she said, “frankly, Drake, you're just not bad enough for me. I've had two serious relationships my entire life. Stone? He was a troubled youth who grew up practically on the streets with all the problems that entails. His best friend, his mentor was Sonny Corinthos.”  
  
Exhaling harshly, Patrick nodded. “Okay. What about the second guy?”  
  
“It was Jason Morgan. Remember. I already told you about him. Well, I told you that we dated, but we did a lot more than that. We lived together, raised a kid together for a year. It was intense, whereas you, on the other hand, are just a pretty boy, somebody who is definitely not my type.”  
  
“You're bluffing.”  
  
“Am I, really,” she queried rhetorically, opening the door to re-enter the hospital.  
  
Doctor Drake didn't respond, and he definitely didn't follow her. In one break, she had managed to accomplish both of her missions: solve her funding issue and put a cork in Mr. I'm-Too-Sexy-for-a-Personality. Not bad for fifteen minutes spent in a stairwell, Robin mused with a smug grin as she returned to work. Now, all she had to do was get Maxie on board with her charity fashion show idea. If nothing else, she'd just blackmail her with the gossip about her kiss with Patrick... not that it would happen again. Ever.

} ~ {

“Jason, dear, you're soaked,” Lila exclaimed in welcome as she watched her grandson sneak into her suite.  
  
He shrugged, obviously unconcerned about the fact that he was trailing water throughout the Quartermaine mansion. “It started raining again.”  
  
For that matter, she wasn't worried about her carpet either; she just didn't want him to get sick, but Jason was healthy, and it was a summer storm, the temperatures hot enough to make the moisture sizzle off one's skin. “I was afraid of that, and Reggie insists that I stay inside and not tend to my garden when it's wet out. He's too protective.”  
  
“He's right.”  
  
Leveling a mock, warning glance at him, she warned, “careful or I'll think the two of you are in league together.”  
  
Finally, her efforts to banter with her solemn grandson paid off when he offered her a small, tight smile. “Maybe we are.”  
  
Unlike with her other guests, Lila never offered Jason food or drink, knowing that, even if he was hungry or thirsty, he wouldn't be aware of his body's needs and would immediately dismiss her hosting efforts. She wasn't sure if his adamant attitude came from a distinct need to avoid taking anything from the family, even refreshments, or if it was just his unilateral focus which forbid any distractions to his attention. Perhaps it might have even been a combination of both.  
  
“How was your trip out of town? I wanted to let you know that I appreciated you letting me know that you were leaving again, and I'm so glad that you didn't stay away too long.”  
  
Apparently, she had introduced the right topic for discussion, because Jason dived right in by admitting, “I went to find Elizabeth.”  
  
“And did you... find her?”  
  
“She came back with me.” Before the family matriarch could react, her grandson stood up and started pacing, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “There's so much I have to tell you, grandmother. I don't.... It's been weeks since I found out, and I'm still processing. That's part of the reason why I've waited so long to come and tell you the news.”  
  
All she said was, “oh,” hoping to encourage him while not interfering with his train of thought.  
  
Meeting her gaze, his own eyes startling in their naked, desperate honesty, Jason blurted out, “I'm a father.”  
  
Although she was thrilled by the news, she didn't allow her excitement to show. After all, there was something about her grandson's confession that was upsetting him. Lila knew it would be better to wait until she had the complete story before reacting. After several quiet minutes of thought, she told him, “that makes sense... now that I think about it. Elizabeth was pregnant when she left, wasn't she?”  
  
“Yeah.” He stopped to rub a rough hand up and down his tanned face. “She was.”  
  
“And is that what has you so conflicted – the fact that you missed so much of your child's life, the fact that Elizabeth didn't tell you... which, frankly, dear, I find shockingly out of character for her.”  
  
Once more he sat down, collapsing into the wingback positioned next to her wheelchair. She was grateful that he had ceased his pacing, for it had been making her slightly dizzy. With a sigh, Jason said, “that's not what happened. I mean, I didn't know that she was pregnant, but it wasn't because she didn't try to tell me. She did.”  
  
“But...?”  
  
“Sonny,” he growled out. His jaw tightened; his electric blue eyes, eyes so much like her own, narrowed; and he squeezed the arms of his chair to the point where she feared for the piece of furniture's integrity. This was Jason Morgan livid.  
  
“He somehow prevented Elizabeth from reaching you, and I'm guessing she eventually gave up?”  
  
“Yes but no.” Sighing, he explained, “Sonny made a deal with one of his... competitors. In exchange for me eventually training this other man's son, the competitor would get rid of Sonny's problem for him – Elizabeth and our children.” At her confused expression, her grandson rushed to clarify, “she had been pregnant with twins.”  
  
Despite her best efforts, Lila couldn't help but happily cry out, “two children, that's wonderful news, Jason, dear. I'm so happy for....”  
  
He interrupted her. “Elizabeth was told that our son died. She didn't even know that she was carrying twins, and then the kids were put up for adoption. We're trying to find them, but... it's not easy. The adoption was closed, and every precaution was taken to make sure that I didn't find out. Plus, what are we to do if we do find them? They're almost five years old, grandmother. Hopefully, they're with happy, healthy families, but, at the same time, what if they are? Are we supposed to take them back, take them from parents whom they love and who love them, rob them of that security? And then there's Sonny to deal with, too. I don't... he was supposed to be my best friend.”  
  
“Stop it,” she ordered him. The harsh tone of her voice caught him off guard, and he immediately snapped his gaze up to meet her own. “You are not a man who thinks in the abstract. Don't start now. It won't get you anywhere. Right now, you need to focus on the present, on the here and now. Find you children, and, when you do, you and Elizabeth will know what's best for them. Parents always do. As for Sonny, do not let that man hurt you any more than he already has.”  
  
“That's easier said than done, grandmother.”  
  
“Yes, well, you have more important things to worry about, dear. There's Elizabeth for one.”  
  
“Elizabeth,” he questioned, obviously surprised by her suggestion. “What's wrong with Elizabeth?”  
  
“Nothing, I hope... other than the fact that she, too, is confused, angry, and hurt by what has been done to you. But that's not what I meant. Right now, you shouldn't be worried about things you cannot change. Instead, you should be worried about figuring out how you feel about her, about Elizabeth.”  
  
“I... I don't understand.”  
  
Patiently, she said, “you evidently cared for her enough all those years ago to conceive a child with her. Two children. Yes, it's been a long time since you've seen one another, but I know you, Jason. You don't give your heart away lightly, and you didn't leave Elizabeth by choice or because the two of you had a falling out; you left for what you thought would be a temporary time, believing she would be here, waiting for you, when you returned.”  
  
Her grandson leaned forward, urgently taking one of her hands between both of his. “What are you trying to ask me, grandmother?”  
  
“Are you still in love with Elizabeth Webber?”  
  
Immediately, he shot forward, ricocheting to his feet to pace once more. The movement apparently, she assumed, helped him to think more clearly. As he thought, Lila sat in silence, waiting eagerly to hear his response. Finally, after several suspense filled moments on her part, he whispered, “I think I'll always love her.”  
  
“Because she's the mother of your children,” the Quartermaine matriarch prompted him.  
  
“Well, yes, partly,” Jason responded, “but it's more than that.” Turning around to face her, he continued, “I love her as my friend – for saving my life, for listening to me when I talk, for making me eat soup because it's good for me even though I hate it. I love her for the way she paints. Even if she doesn't paint any longer, I still remember. But, most of all, I just love her because she's... because she's Elizabeth.” Before she could respond, he added, “but she's moved on. She doesn't care for me that way... if she ever did. I don't know.”  
  
And, with his words, her ripe, blossoming smile faded and wilted. “Do not make up her mind for her, dear,” Lila advised. “Trust in her and the way you feel enough to allow her the chance to tell you for herself how she feels. Can you do that for me.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And promise me that you'll keep an open heart... even if your mind closes down on you.”  
  
He was hesitant but eventually relented. “I promise.”  
  
“Good. And no matter what happens, Jason, congratulations on being a father.”  
  
“Thank you, grandmother.” Despite himself, she noticed a small smile upon her grandson's face.  
  
“Now, if you'd like to spend some time with little Michael,” she suggested, “he's here, down in the nursery playing cars with Reggie. I was there, too, but Reginald insisted that I come back here for a little while and rest.”  
  
Jason's quirked brow showed that he was shocked by her admission. “Carly's letting Michael spend time here?”  
  
“Quite a bit of time, actually, these past few weeks,” she answered him.  
  
“Thanks but... Michael doesn't know me anymore,” he replied. Though his words weren't cold, Lila could also tell that her grandson wasn't exactly bothered either by his lack of relationship with his former surrogate son. “Plus, I need to get going.”  
  
“Of course, dear,” she agreed, tilting her face up for his kiss upon her cheek. “And tell Elizabeth that I said hello.”  
  
“I'll do better than that,” he told her with a small grin. “Next time I come, I'll bring her with me.”  
  
“I can't wait.”

} ~ {

Despite the Quartermaine's insistence, Nikolas had refused to allow Emily to be buried in her adopted family's mausoleum. Instead, her gravesite was located on Spoon Island. There was space available for him to someday join her, and, in the meantime, he and their son could go and see her marker as often as they wanted to. Despite the convenience of her burial plot, though, it had been some time since he had gone to talk to her. Nikolas knew his distance was born from shame.  
  
“I know that you wouldn't approve of some of the things I've had to do recently, but they're necessary, Em. I promised you on your death bed that I would take care of our son, the son you died for. Everything I've done, everything that I'm doing, everything that I've yet to do, it's all to make sure that no takes our little boy away.”  
  
Smiling wistfully, he told her, “he's amazing. You'd be so proud of him. He's smart; and well spoken; and, even though he's so young, when he walks into a room, he demands everyone's attention. He's a true Cassadine heir but with your compassion and grace. Unfortunately, I don't get to spend as much time with him as I'd like, but I've hired the most amazing governess. He seems to like her... at least he's content with her. I hate the fact that he still asks for Nadine. It's an insult to you and your memory, but it's a mistake of my own making that I'm now in the process of rectifying.  
  
“I never should have married her. That was a mistake, too. It was too soon after your death, and no one's ever going to replace you, but I was lonely, and I thought that she would help me honor your memory with our son, not try to steal him from you.” Becoming angry with the path of his thoughts, Nikolas snapped, “and, now, she has the gall to try to take him from me, claiming that she's the better parent and that I'm unfit to raise to my own child. He's not even hers; he's yours, and I don't care how much Spencer cares for her, how much she claims to love him, she won't take our son away from me, Emily. I promise you that.”  
  
He laughed then. “You should see how desperate she is – attacking my moral character, using the fact that I'm a wealthy and powerful man against me, and, now, of all things, she's gone out and found herself a criminal boyfriend. As if the idea of some mob boss' son is going to scare me away from protecting what is mine. What is ours, I mean – yours and mine. But let me tell you, I have a little surprise cooked up for Mr. Johnny Zacchara. My offense is seamless. He won't see it coming, and, when it does, not only will his life as he knows it end, but little Miss Nadine will have to kiss Spencer goodbye once and for all as well.”  
  
The prince fell silent then. He had come to the point of his confession that he knew Emily would most be ashamed of. “I'm not fighting for Laura, my adoptive daughter. I just... we've never been close, and girls need their mothers more than their fathers anyway, right? I know that losing Paige was the hardest thing that ever happened to you. I couldn't take Laura's mother away from her intentionally.” If he noticed the fact that he never referred to the little girl sentimentally, Nikolas didn't pay it mind.  
  
“As for the women in my life right now.... I'm sorry, Emily, but I can't be a monk, and I don't think you would expect that of me either. I just... uh, I need that release! My life is so stressful. Sometimes, I just need to pound away inside of some faceless woman that I don't care....”  
  
Allowing his own words to trail off, Nikolas finished, “anyway, I know that you wouldn't exactly be proud of me right now, but I won't always be like this. Someday soon, when everything's the way it should be again, I'll be a better man once more, a better father. Until then, though, Emily, know that I love you. I'll always love you, and no one, NO ONE,” his tone hardened once more, “will ever take our son away from me.”  
  
Standing up, he brushed the wet dirt and grass from his knees and turned to go back to the house, wondering what Claudia Zacchara was doing that evening. Perhaps it was time for them to have another... _meeting_... in Jasper Jax's office. He didn't even realize that, in less than a minute, he had already stopped thinking about his beloved, dead wife.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Spinelli's apartment had a style all of its own... at least as far as Maxie was concerned. Never before had she encountered someone who considered wall to wall shelving stuffed with overflowing piles of what she thought to be junk – spare electronics equipment, video games, comic books, and toy action figurines – to be a legitimate personal statement on style. His living room furniture was a combination of bean bag chairs and blow up, plastic mini-sofas; his dining room table an air hockey machine with bar stools; and his dishes were the freebies that came with so many purchases of select brands of cereal. He didn't even have a single piece of glassware; everything was plastic, and she would know, because she had checked. What the rest of his apartment looked like, she didn't know, and, frankly, she didn't care to find out. Their tour had ended at her insistence before the nerd could embarrass himself further.  
  
“Are you sure the girls are going to be alright back their on their own,” she questioned him. Since she had arrived at The Jackass' humble abode – emphasis on both the words jackass and humble, Maxie had been asking her tech support staff (as she liked to think of Damien) the same inquiry over and over again. Because Robin had gone out to dinner that night with friends from work, she had Cate. The problem was that she also had to work on her new business as well.  
  
Luckily, as fate would have it, Spinelli had a niece who was the exact same age as her second cousin and charge, and he had invited both of them over, for he had the little girl for the night while her mother went out, too. Though it chapped her designer jean clad ass that Robin was going out while she was staying in with the geek squadron and that, instead of going out with a guy, she was watching Cate so that Robin could go drinking with female coworkers, she firmly believed that girlfriends were a step in the right direction towards getting her cousin back on the dating market. Now, she wouldn't have to nag and push on her own; she'd have backup.  
  
“Feisty Fashionista, if you believe nothing else about The Jackal, know that he adores his family.” Speaking gravely for what was perhaps the first time in his life, he emphasized, “I would do anything for my sister and her daughter. Trust me, the room is secure. I have safety plugs in all the electrical sockets still from when Laura was a baby, there are no sharp corners for them to fall and hit their heads on while jumping on the bed, and I only keep appropriate movies and games in plain sight. Anything inappropriate is hidden.”  
  
“A serial bachelor who knows how to put his porn stash away? Impressive,” she complimented him cattily.  
  
“Considering the fact that I'm almost positive that was the most masculine insult you've ever offered me, I'll simply accept what you said and not argue with you.”  
  
“See, Spaghetti,” Maxie ruffled his hair roughly. “You're learning already. Next, we'll work on you putting the toilet seat down.”  
  
“Or perhaps I'll just invent one that lowers itself automatically when a man steps away from the commode,” he suggested.  
  
“Hey, no side projects! You're supposed to be working on my website right now.”  
  
“And I am, Evil Blonde One,” Damien assured her. “Now, why don't you tell me why you requested this meeting? Have you changed your mind about something that we've already discussed? Do you need help with an advertising project? Whatever it is, The Jackal is at your service.” With this announcement, he offered her a small, fancy bow. She had to curb the urge to kick him in the shin. For some reason, Spinelli had the power to bring out her inner five year old.  
  
“Actually, I unfortunately ran into my Uncle Mac today, and he immediately set in about all the rules and regulations on owning a small business that I hadn't been aware of. I swear, the man just can't forget that he's a stupid cop for five seconds! There I was, excited about actually doing something to make my dream come true, and he has to dump all over me. Talk about being unsupportive.”  
  
As the nerd took a seat at his ice hockey table, Maxie wandered about his apartment, absentmindedly picking up loose odds and ends, playing with them, and then sightlessly putting them back down without even registering what it was she had been holding in the first place. “You do realize that your business partner is an attorney, don't you? In fact, she's _the_ attorney. Miss Miller is the be all and end all of litigation. She's simply the best.”  
  
“Okay, Tina Turner, I get it. She's your favorite cougar in the whole world.” When The Jackass didn't respond, she glanced up to see his brow buried in confusion. “Forget it,” Maxie dismissed.  
  
“Anyway,” he moved on, following her instructions. “My point is that my intrepid employer has already taken the necessary precautions to ensure that her latest entrepreneurial adventure cannot be derailed because of faulty paperwork or incomplete permits. Rest assured. Your dreams are in good hands.”  
  
She winked at him. “Know that from personal experience, huh?”  
  
“Uh... contrary to your obviously high opinion of my business acuity, I have never before attempted to start a corporation with The Brusque Lady of Justice's more than able assistance.”  
  
“Yeah, again, Spinelli, so not what I meant.” When he went to ask her for an explanation, she held him off by putting up a hand and saying, “if you don't get it already, you probably never will.”  
  
“Alright then,” he said resignedly. “Why don't you share with The Jackal your news then? On the phone, you mentioned something about a charity event that should – in your own words – 'go a long way to ensure that all the rich bitches in this town never forget my name.'”  
  
Glancing around her, Maxie asked, “do you have any cards around this dump... and I'm talking 52 normal cards with numbers and members of a mock royalty on them. I don't want you to hand me anything with dragons or wizards instead.”  
  
Immediately, the nerd hopped to his feet – no wonder Diane called him her Mr. Grasshopper – and began to rummage through a drawer... as in one, for he had several... meant to hold junk in his kitchen. “And may I inquire why the Feisty Fashionista desires such things?”  
  
She shrugged, though she knew he couldn't see her. “They help me think. I figured why we talk about the charity fashion show I'm going to help my cousin throw to raise money for her department at work, we'd play poker or something.”  
  
Standing up straight so quickly he knocked his head against an upper cabinet, Spinelli suggested hopefully, “strip poker?!”  
  
“Only if you're referring to me stripping you of all your skin and nails if you ever even think of me taking my clothes off in your presence”  
  
“So, there is a chance,” Damien persisted with a goofy smile.  
  
Despite herself, Maxie laughed. “No, absolutely not. You'd have a better shot of Diane buying shoes at Payless than you would have of me ever allowing you to see me in anything less than a complete and total ensemble. No, we'll just be playing straight, five-card stud... unless you know Texas Hold 'Em.”  
  
“Hold Them?”  
  
“No, Hold 'Em.”  
  
“Hold What?”  
  
Throwing up her arms, she exclaimed, “Texas Hold 'Em, Spinelli, like the most famous kind of poker there is right now. Hell, turn on one of the bazillion ESPN's available to all cable subscribers, and you'll probably find a Texas Hold 'Em tournament on right now.”  
  
“Yeah... I don't know what ESPN is,” he told her. Guessing, he suggested, “Everybody Speaks Poker Network?”  
  
Without intention, she felt her mouth fall open unattractively. “Are you sure you're not gay... and I'm not saying this in an attempt to be cruel, or vicious, or even funny?”  
  
“100%, all systems a go, I'm as sure that I'm straight as a Mac is better than a PC. In fact, if The Evil Blonde One would be kind enough to revisit the idea of strip poker, then The Jackal is positive he would be able to quickly and embarrassingly assure her that he is, in fact, heterosexual.”  
  
“Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew!” Closing her eyes and rubbing them frantically, Maxie shrieked once more just for good measure, “and ew again!” Shaking herself in revulsion, she commanded, “shut up, bring the cards, and sit your mismatched ass down so I can show you how to play normal, non-naked poker.” He did as she said, handing her the deck of cards once he had taken his seat. Shuffling, she instructed him, “and, while we play, think about possible logo designs. Once the website's up and running, that's your next task.”  
  
“You know, I'm starting to think that you believe yourself to be my boss.”  
  
“Duh.”  
  
“We are coworkers.”  
  
“Underling and head bitch,” Maxie argued.  
  
“Equals.”  
  
“Slave and Master.”  
  
“Friends,” The Jackass went and suggested hopefully.  
  
Despite her otherwise cold and sometimes she suspected unfeeling heart, Maxie simply couldn't say no to the geek's puppy-dog, panting expression. Rolling her eyes, she countered, “acquaintances. We'll revisit about the whole friends issue _after_ I see my new logo.”  
  
Who knew running a business would require so much coddling!

} ~ {

It was late – in fact, he had been sleeping – when Johnny stumbled out of bed in the dark to answer his door. The only illumination to light his path was the occasional shower of the moon's luminescence when the clouds would shift enough for the lunar glow to shine through his floor to ceiling windows. It made his penthouse apartment appear as though it existed in a world of shadows only, all the color washed away in a sea of black, gray, and white.  
  
Because of how emphatically the person was knocking at his door, he believed them to be one of his father's men, assuming there had been some sort of alarm or important security breach, so, when he opened it to find Nadine out alone in the hall, her face flushed from a combination of exertion, slight inebriation, and nervousness and her purse carelessly tossed down to lay forgotten at her flip flop wearing feet, it was easy to say that he was slightly more than shocked. In fact, he was so rocked by her unexpected visit, Johnny had to lean over and rest against the open door jamb.  
  
“So, Girls Night Out went well,” he teased her affectionately, grinning despite all the unvoiced and unanswered questions lingering between them.  
  
“You're not wearing a shirt.”  
  
As if suddenly reminded of the fact, he glanced down at himself. Sure enough, she was right. Looking back up to meet her unblinking gaze, he replied, “I was in bed... when you knocked.”  
  
“Oh.” Nadine blushed further. “Did I wake you? If I did....” Already turning to leave, she said, “I'll just go.”  
  
“Wait, no,” he called after her, reaching forward to gently take hold of her arm and turn her back around. “I wasn't sleeping, and you're here now.”  
  
“I am.” To go along with her positive statement, the nurse nodded her head emphatically.  
  
He smirked. “Do you want to tell me why you're here then? Not that I mind,” Johnny was quick to assure her. “In fact, you can come by every night at this time and get me up out of bed if you want.” This time, it was his face's turn to flush in embarrassment. Returning to the previous topic, he asked, “I mean, is there something on your mind? Nothing's wrong, right?”  
  
“No. Yes. I don't know.”  
  
The fact that she was agitatedly wringing her hands and suddenly avoiding his eyes told him that, not only was she hesitant to actually answer his question, but that she was also scared to, and the last thing he ever wanted was for Nadine to be scared of him or scared of anything that had to do with him – whether it was their relationship, how she felt about him, or because of how strongly he suspected he already felt for her. “Just say the first thing that you think of, and we'll go from there.”  
  
Again, she blurted out, “you're shirtless.” He went to laugh, but, before he could, she continued on, rambling. “And I don't know what that means... to me. Obviously, for you, it means that you sleep partially nude, and that's enough already right now to blow my mind, because I'm tipsy, and you're standing there naked from the waist up, and I have no idea what I am to you. Am I your girlfriend? Although I hate that word, I think I'd love it, too, if that's what I was. Are we dating, or are we just seeing each other, and what is the difference really, and what do those differences mean as far as me kissing you right now while you don't have a shirt on?”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
“Yeah,” Nadine admitted sheepishly, shuffling a sandaled foot back and forth against the hallway carpet outside his door.  
  
“You've had this on your mind now for a while, haven't you,” he questioned softly, tenderly.  
  
“Oh, like... only since the night you walked me home. I guess I just needed a little liquid encouragement to find the nerve to ask you just exactly what we are to each other.”  
  
Despite not knowing if it was the right reaction or not, Johnny couldn't help but grin widely. To hear that she cared so much for him and had been thinking about him so much since they had officially met all those weeks before was the best news he had been given in a long, long time. Briefly, he wondered if this was his chance to set her free, to offer her the chance to live her life safe and far away from him. If he lied and said that he thought of her as nothing more than a friend, then he wouldn't have to worry about the ugliness of his father's world ever tarnishing her. But he couldn't turn her away; he couldn't deny himself the pleasure of experiencing his feelings for the single mother.  
  
Before he could respond, though, Nadine was already moving on to another topic. “Fuck it,” she mumbled under her breath. The cussing shocked him, because, usually, she was extremely reserved and ladylike, preferring not to use crass words. Once more, her odd, tipsy behavior amused him. Bravely looking him squarely in the eye, she asked, “you have a piano, right?”  
  
“Yes...?”  
  
“Well, I've always had a Pretty Woman fantasy.”  
  
Ten minutes later, as the moonlight shimmered through the floor to ceiling windows of his living room once more, Johnny Zacchara saw true beauty for the first time in his life as he slid inside Nadine Crowell, her creamy, alabaster skin melting against the dense, bottomless ebony of his Steinway baby grand piano. In that moment, he fell.

} ~ {

“Where have you been?”  
  
The words so frozen with uncharacteristic and flagrant emotion made her drop her keys in both surprise and astonishment. Or maybe that was just her drunk, uncoordinated fingers refusing to work again. After all, managing the handle of the cab home had been more than tricky for Elizabeth in her soused state. Still, though, as she stumbled into the studio, she had assumed that Jason would be asleep, that she'd be able to fall down and pass out without him ever being the wiser of her less than complimentary condition, and they'd continue to go about their strange limbo together again the next day.  
  
“Uh... out.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
Softly closing the door behind her... or as softly as any drunk person can manage to do anything, Elizabeth then stood and observed the still man before her. His back was turned against her as he gazed out the multi-paned windows that loomed over the docks, his shoulders were stiff, and she could see that his arms were crossed rigidly over his chest. It was the classic impatient, annoyed Jason Morgan pose, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit to see that he was so disturbed by her choice to stay out so late.  
  
“We started at the The P.C. Grill's bar, but the drinks were too rich,price wise, for a nurse's salary, so I suggested Jakes.”  
  
“So, you thought it would be a good idea for you, Robin, and Nadine - three small, defenseless, drunk women – to go to a dive bar on the docks?”  
  
“We were perfectly safe,” she protested hotly. “Besides, Robin wasn't drunk, and Nadine was only tipsy.”  
  
“Oh, so you were the only one being irresponsible. Is that supposed to make me feel better, Elizabeth,” he yelled at her.  
  
“Look, I don't get what crawled up your butt and died, but lay off already. I'm fine. See,” she asked rhetorically. When he didn't turn around to look at her, she continued, “no gaping, bleeding bullet wounds. No bruises. Not even a scratch. I'm not some stupid teenager anymore, Jason. You don't have to....”  
  
“What, worry about you? Of course I do,” he exploded, swirling around in a fit of pent-up aggression. Never before had she seen him so... emotional before. It was daunting, and it frightened her far more than any unwanted come on in a bar possibly could.  
  
“Yeah, well, who asked you to?”  
  
“I can't help it, Elizabeth,” he protested, moving towards her. She backed up, but all that accomplished was trapping her against the reinforced steel door he had ordered and installed the first week they had been back in Port Charles. “Don't you know how much you....”  
  
Cutting him off, she warned, “don't do that.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Care about me.” With the heat of him, with the sheer strength and size of him so near, she also realized something else. Blushing, she added on a whisper, “and don't want me either.”  
  
Jason immediately demanded to know, “why not?”  
  
Lifting her hands to futilely push against his chest, she screamed, “because I'm broken, that's why!” Her bravado, her anger failed her then, though, and she instantly burst into tears. Removing her hands from him and placing them over her own face, she confessed on a sob, “there were complications... with the birth.”  
  
Gently, he took her by the shoulders and led her over to the couch. Once they were both seated, their legs casually brushing together, he asked, “what kind of complications.”  
  
“The really bad kind,” she replied, biting her lip. Blinking away some of the moisture in her eyes, she looked up to meet his concerned yet not pitying glance, and it gave her the courage to add, “Jason, I can't have any more children.”  
  
He shocked her when he reached forward to push her hair behind her ears and then cup her face in his large, rough and reassuring with callouses palms. “Elizabeth, no matter what, you've already given me two sons. I've never met them, but that doesn't mean that I love them any less than if I had been there with them since the day you found out that you were pregnant.”  
  
“But what'll happen if we don't find them or, if we do, and, for some reason, nothing changes – they stay with their adoptive families? I can't give you any more kids, and you deserve to be a father - not just one in name but a real father who gets to tuck his kids in at night, who teaches his son to throw a ball, who spoils his daughter rotten simply because she calls him daddy.”  
  
“What have I always told you, Elizabeth,” he patiently challenged her. “I don't deal in what-if's. We'll cross that bridge when and if it happens. There's no sense in living our lives around things that might never happen. Come here,” he then encouraged her, dropping her face from his hands and opening his arms wide.  
  
Surprising herself, she didn't hesitate to crawl into his embrace and snuggle down against his chest. It was the first time since the last time she was so close with Jason that she allowed anyone to really hold her. Despite all the years that she had spent with Patrick, she had never allowed him to touch her so intimately. Yes, there had been plenty of sex in their relationship, but it had been empty and cold, a means to an end, meaningless. Patrick had attained physical satisfaction, and Elizabeth had received her own momentary distraction. Eventually, the quiet of Jason's arms surrounding her lulled her, and she relaxed. However, she didn't fall asleep, despite all the alcohol coursing through her system. The moment was simply too special to give away to her dreams.  
  
“I want you to promise me that you'll go and see Doctor Meadows soon.”  
  
“What, why,” Elizabeth asked without sitting up or letting go of him. Even she could hear the confusion lacing her tone of voice.  
  
“Because, if they lied to you about carrying twins and about losing your child when, in reality, both of our boys survived, then maybe they lied to you about the complications as well. I don't want you to get your hopes up only to be disappointed once again, but I think you need to know the truth once and for all. I think we both do.”  
  
Nodding her head yes, she accepted his suggestion and agreed to his requested promise. Between them, for the moment, nothing else needed to be said. Five minutes later, after stretching out together along the narrow, uncomfortable couch, Elizabeth fell asleep.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

If you had enough money, enough connections, and weren't afraid of breaking a few laws, it was easy to find... well, just about anything. If nothing else, Claudia had managed to learn the fine art of persuasion from her father. Though Anthony refused to train her as his rightful heir, there was the one aspect of his wisdom that he had managed to impart to his daughter: how to turn valuable information into useful tools in order to advance one's own motives or ambitions. It was how she had so quickly become second in command at Jacks Enterprises without ever setting foot inside a college classroom. And, now, her drive to dethrone her brother was about to pay off in dividends that not even she had anticipated.  
  
It was amazing how incestuous the mob was. Allies, enemies, or neutrals, every don, every enforcer, every lowly gopher knew all the players in the business, and, eventually, all their paths crossed. Most of the time, though, this crossbreeding of organizations only occurred in secret. Leaving virtually no paper trails, they were difficult to uncover and even more difficult to understand if you just so happened to stumble upon them. Unfortunately, that was the case that Claudia found herself in; fortunately, no matter how she sliced the decadent dessert of possibilities, she'd still end up with one hell of a payoff when she got to have her cake and eat it, too.  
  
After weeks of patience, of shelling out money with no results, pay dirt had finally landed in a plain, manilla envelope upon her desk that morning, or, rather, she suspected it had been delivered the night before, under the cover of darkness when the building was otherwise empty and the deliverer would have less of a chance of being seen. Whatever; whenever. It didn't matter to her just as long as she got the information she wanted, and boy had she ever!  
  
Using her cell phone, Claudia, beaming, dialed the one person in the world who could and would share in her triumph. Although she was normally a girl who liked to fly solo in her more devious operations, she had to admit that teaming up with Nikolas Cassadine had its perks. Mainly the sex, but she was self-aware enough to realize that she liked his praise as well. It had been a long time since anyone other than Jax had appreciated her, and her boss certainly didn't know about her more nefarious deeds.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Tell your son congratulations for me.”  
  
“Claudia,” Nikolas questioned. She could hear the sound of slumber in the prince's voice, and an inner thrill surged through her. There was something empowering about being awake before the royal – literally – businessman, as if her time was more priceless and, therefore, she couldn't waste it sleeping the morning away. “What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
Without explaining herself, she said, “you know, I never gave him credit for being such an imaginative problem solver.”  
  
“Who are you talking about now, and why the hell were you even thinking about my son?”  
  
“I was congratulating him because he's a cousin again... twice over,” she answered.  
  
“It's too early for riddles. Would you please either speak clearly or hang up and call me later,” he requested.  
  
“I'm talking about Jason Morgan being the proud father of twins... not that he's actually raising the brats himself, but, still, somewhere out there, Little Spencer has a couple of unknown relatives running around.”  
  
“And the imaginative problem solving bit,” Nikolas pressed.  
  
“Well, obviously, Morgan knocked some slut up and didn't want to have to deal with the consequences, so he went to my father who then went to John. Nine months later, the bastards were shipped off to live with two different families, never to be seen or heard from again.”  
  
“Your information must be wrong.”  
  
“It's not,” she insisted.  
  
“Claudia, you've been in Port Charles for a month. You don't know Jason Morgan; I do. The man has saved my life, I was married to his sister, we've had people in common for years, and I've always hated him. He's nothing more than an emotionless borg who kills people on Sonny Corinthos' orders. However, the one thing that I can say about him is that he'd never give his children away, no matter how unappealing their mother was. Hell, he raised Carly Quartermaine Corinthos' son for a year, pretending to the father. Besides,” Nikolas added, “I don't see how this is supposed to help us bring down your brother.”  
  
“It's not just going to help us bring down John; it's going to ruin him, because the adoption was illegal. Oh, it looks all legit on paper. The proper signatures are there, everything's notarized, the t's are crossed, and the i's are dotted, but I just had this gut feeling that something was off with it, so I dug a little deeper. It didn't take me long to determine that the mother's signature is a forgery.”  
  
Immediately sounding interested, the prince demanded, “what?”  
  
“That's right. It's totally bogus. I don't know what my baby brother pulled, but it definitely wasn't on the up and up. Throw into the mix the fact that these are Jason Morgan's kids, and, if what you said is true, then his signature is probably a fake, too, meaning someone went behind his back and betrayed him to get rid of his brats without his knowledge.” She laughed then, a deep, rich, throaty snicker.  
  
“Johnny has no idea how deep of a mess he's in. Knowing my little brother, my father probably fed him some cock and bull story about the adoptions being what was best for the squalling brats, so Johnny did the dirty work, not realizing what kind of trouble he was opening himself up to. If we dump this story to the cops, he gets in trouble with the law, probably going to jail – maybe even on kidnapping charges; if we alert Morgan, he'll personally see to it that John is handled... permanently. Or, better yet, we could use this to take the screws to both of them. Think of the power we could amass if we could somehow turn this into a way of gaining control of both the Zacchara _and_ the Corinthos-Morgan organizations.”  
  
As she finally fell silent, visions of illegal contraband and laundered money dancing in her head, Claudia was startled by her partner's next question. “Who was... is the mother?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“The mother... of Jason's twins,” he urged her. “I need to know who she is.”  
  
“Oh, some nobody girl named Elizabeth Imogene Webber. I'm looking at her file right now. According to what this says, she was just a teenage art college student when Morgan knocked her up. Talk about your strange bedfellows. She ran away to California, he disappeared, and now she's a nurse in New York City... or, at least, she was as of this past February when she filed her last tax return.”  
  
“Son of a bitch,” Nikolas swore hotly. The rage was practically dripping from his voice and through the phone line to puddle neatly in her suspicions. “I knew it!”  
  
“Knew what? Her? Them? That Lizzie was an early filer?”  
  
“Never mind,” he told her dismissively, but Claudia could still hear the irrational fury choking her partner's words. “Do what you want to your brother. Send him to prison. Give him up to Jason. I don't care. But you leave Morgan alone.”  
  
“What,” she yelled passionately, disbelievingly. “You have to be kidding me! You already said that you can't stand the guy, so why would you care if I ruin him, too?”  
  
“Because I said so, Claudia. That should be all you need to know. I don't explain myself to anyone, especially you.”  
  
“Fine, but a little insight would be appreciated,” she told him bitingly. “Like... what the hell are you thinking about all of this?”  
  
“I'm thinking that there's trouble in paradise between Sonny and his enforcer, that this has Corinthos' touch written all over it. I guarantee you he was the one who went to your father for help... behind Jason's back. Like I said, Morgan would never give up his kids, not willingly. No, this is bigger than just your baby brother orchestrating an illegal adoption,” he informed her, suddenly calm and rational once more. “Mark my words: by the time all this plays out and everything is revealed, Port Charles is going to be one hell of a different city.”  
  
“Just as long as I end up with a good slice of the profitable aftermath, I really couldn't care less.”  
  
As they hung up, though, Claudia knew that Nikolas – the cold, calculating, and twisted bastard that he was – couldn't say the same thing. That didn't sit well with her. No, it didn't sit well at all.

} ~ {

“Who is this stranger that I see before me?”  
  
“Yes, hello, Diane,” Alexis returned dryly, rolling her eyes. “Very funny.”  
  
“You're like Port Charles' very own Elvis. There were rumors of sitings, all of them in strange places – a donut shop, the duck pond in the park, trapped inside a cab by an insurmountable mound of diaper packages, but there was never any proof that any of these so-called sitings were legitimate. You've been a ghost for the past month.”  
  
“More like on bed rest and living in the lap of luxury, so, instead of having to go out to fulfill my own desires, my desires were brought to me.”  
  
“Sounds like pay-per-view porn,” the other lawyer quipped.  
  
Blushing, and then glaring, and then blushing again, Alexis spluttered, “Diane...! We're in the middle of The P.C. Grill for crying out loud. Do you want to give an eavesdropping Edward Quartermaine a heart attack?”  
  
“If the old fool gets struck down, it'd be nothing but what he deserves for being a nosey snoop.” When Alexis went to protest, the redhead continued, “hey, I'm not completely heartless. I wouldn't withhold his medication... unlike his own daughter. You weren't involved with Tracy's son Ned during that fine Quartermaine example of family devotion, were you, because, if so, it's no wonder you hopped an eighteen wheeler to escape marrying into that dysfunctional dynasty.”  
  
“No, that was well before Ned and I dated.”  
  
“Or rather before you and Eddie Maine dated,” her rival pointed out in what could only be described as a smug tone, her amusement barely stifled.  
  
“I highly doubt you asked me to meet you for breakfast in order to discuss the most embarrassing moment of my life,” she snapped.  
  
Diane waved off her momentary display of a temper tantrum. “So, shacking it up with the Aussie Hunk, huh? What's the hubby have to say about that?”  
  
“Well, considering the fact that Sonny never quite made it to the hospital a month ago when I went into premature labor, I don't really think he has much room to say or think anything.”  
  
“Point taken, counselor. Do I smell a divorce on the horizon. You know, if you're looking for a good lawyer, I could recommend someone to you: myself. I am the best legal eagle this town has ever seen.”  
  
“Thank you but no,” Alexis assured her. “Jax has an entire team of attorneys if I decide to pursue that option, but don't you go and offer to represent Sonny either.”  
  
“So, then, there will be some steps taken to make this separation permanent? Good for you,” the other woman cheered. “It's only a few months and a baby too late, but, hey, not everyone can be as quick on the draw as I am.”  
  
“Says the woman who has represented Anthony Zacchara for years,” she challenged in return.  
  
“Hey, I am an admitted shoe addict who enjoys her little problem and has absolutely no intentions of trying to quit or seeking professional help. It isn't my fault that Anthony has been my enabler for all these years. Actually, though,” Diane sobered quickly, making Alexis' already pregnancy-unbalanced mind spin slightly, “that's why I wanted to meet with you today. It appears as though I might just be out a major client soon.”  
  
Currently practicing or not, Alexis was still a member of the court, and she did not want to hear something that she would then be obligated to report. So, sticking her fingers in her ears, the soon-to-be mother of a wholly mammoth... just hopefully without all the hair and those tusks... chimed, “la-la-la-la-la.” Her companion then threw a napkin at her. “What the hell was that for,” she demanded, dropping her hands.  
  
“Apparently, I was trying to capture the attention of a four year old.” Turning serious once more, Diane said, “I'm not an idiot, Alexis; I'm not using you as a means to an end, hoping to either unburden my guilty conscience or pawn off my dirty work onto you.” Taking a deep breath, the other lawyer admitted, “I actually asked you to breakfast today to present to you the idea of a partnership.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“It's this newfangled idea where a far superior attorney takes on a lesser qualified and skilled practitioner to handle all her less challenging, lower paying cases. MILLER... and Davis has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”  
  
Blinking owlishly, Alexis responded, “are you out of your mind?”  
  
“Actually, not at the moment, but, if that status changes, I'll be sure to update you,” Diane promised. “Look,” the redhead laid all her cards out metaphorically. “I've dealt with Anthony's crap for years... as you said yourself moments before, but something from the past has come to light recently, something that, the more I think about it, the more convinced I become that I can't simply push things aside and ignore them any longer. I fear my days as the Zacchara family's legal representative are coming to a quick and rapid close.”  
  
“So, then, you weren't referring to Anthony being rubbed out earlier?”  
  
“Listen to you – rubbed out,” Diane repeated. “Somebody's picked up more than just an STD or two being married to the Don Juan Don of Port Charles.”  
  
“Very funny.” For some reason, she felt the need to attempt to defend herself. “And we never actually lived together!”  
  
“Save it for Mr. Jacks' zoo of legal sharks. You refused to even consider me for the job of your divorce attorney.”  
  
“And are we forgetting the fact that, just a little more than a month ago, someone was too busy to represent her own beloved assistant's sister?”  
  
“A mere conflict of interests issue,” the redhead confided in a joking manner, winking. “How is that going, by the way?”  
  
“It's not; it's stalled,” Alexis confessed. “After we pulled our Carly card and Nikolas threatened Mr. Crowell, er... Spinelli... um, Mr. Spinelli-Crowell... or whatever his name is – Nadine's brother....”  
  
“Another excellent reason to simply call Damien Mr. Grasshopper,” the other lawyer interrupted helpfully.  
  
“... my nephew has been stalling. I'm afraid he's up to something, but, at the same time, I have no way of finding out what, seeing as how I'd be the last person he'd ever confide in, and, besides, with me being on bed rest, work hasn't exactly been my top priority anyway.”  
  
“Jax has been keeping you on a pretty tight leash?”  
  
“More like a choke collar.”  
  
Without warning, Diane returned to their previous area of discourse. “So, what do you think about my idea? I know that you don't want to be aware of details, and that's fine, but let's just say, between you and me, that neither Anthony nor Sonny are going to be in power for much longer. Would you be interested in creating an alliance with you representing a straight and narrow Jason Morgan and me, obviously, heralding John Zacchara's purely legal interests? If we pool our resources, I think we'll have plenty of time to pursue outside cases and the occasional business venture.”  
  
“I've heard worse ideas,” she somewhat reluctantly admitted.  
  
“Well, then, it's settled.” Snapping her fingers, the other woman called over their server. “We'll take two glasses of your best celebratory champagne.”  
  
“Uh, Diane, I'm pregnant.”  
  
“Fine, then,” her companion amended. “Make that two mimosas.”  
  
“Yeah, still pregnant... and it's barely nine o'lock in the morning,” Alexis exclaimed.  
  
“And did you hear me ordering a whiskey neat or even a cosmopolitan? No!”  
  
“I'll take a glass of sparking white grape juice,” she requested of their waiter. “And my ugly, redheaded business partner over there will have the most expensive bottle of bubbly that this place sells. She's paying.”  
  
Moments later, they were lifting their glasses in a toast. “To kicking ass and taking names,” Diane suggested. Before their crystal could clink together, though, the other attorney paled noticeably and said, “when I look over at my bottle of champagne, it's going to be tipped over, having been emptied without my knowledge of how it ended up that way, right, because, right now, I cannot think of any other possible explanation as for why my brand new, one of a kind Maxie Jones original shoes would be wet.”  
  
“My water just broke.”  
  
“This meeting is adjourned,” Diane announced, standing up. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to make an emergency trip to the dry cleaners... and then the liquor store. I'll see you in two weeks when... everything that's supposed to come out of you is out and everything that's supposed to go back in will have absolutely no reason to be mentioned between us.”  
  
“Wait,” Alexis called out, stopping her new business partner in her designer tracks. “You have to take me to the hospital. Jax dropped me off on the way to an emergency meeting in New York, and there's no way that I could handle a cab ride to the hospital and then check myself in.”  
  
“I have cloth seats!”  
  
Using the arms of her chair to level herself into a standing position, breathing heavily the entire time, she yelled, “then buy a fucking sheet or twenty from the hotel, I don't care! Whatever you do, though, you are no abandoning me.”  
  
“Maybe you're freaking out for no reason,” Diane suggested. “Maybe this is just yet another false alarm. Hey, if it happened once, surely it could happen twice, right?”  
  
“That wetness on your shoe, it's amniotic fluid, and that wasn't a drip you felt like last time; that was the goddamned Niagara Falls of water breakings.” Gritting her teeth together, Alexis ordered, “so suck it up, put on your big girl panties, and help me get this bruhathkayosaurus out of my uterus.”  
  
Her rival, her business partner, her _friend_ finally took her by the arm and started to lead her out of the restaurant. “You know, you don't have to be so crass, and a little please would have been appreciated.”  
  
“Suddenly you're Emily Fucking Post.”  
  
Diane groaned. “Uh, I hope Jax gets back soon.”  
  
Alexis did, too.

} ~ {

As Johnny waited for his father to hang up the phone, he observed the stranger seated beside him, making no effort to disguise his appraisal. The man was an assassin-for-hire – emotionless, distant, unmemorable. There was no doubt in his mind that the trained gunman would be able to walk into a crowded, public place, spend time there, and then walk away later without a single person being capable of describing him further than 'he was of average height, average build, maybe dark hair... maybe not; I don't know.' He wasn't the first professional hit-man Anthony Zacchara had ever had on his payroll, but he certainly seemed the most competent.   
  
It was a good thing he was determined the man would be the last killer his father would ever employ.  
  
As soon as the receiver was placed back into its cradle, he burst out, “can we get on with this. I don't see why I even have to be here in the first place.” He didn't – that was the truth, but he was glad that he was nonetheless. It was important to their plan that he know exactly what his father was up to at all times.  
  
“You're here because Corinthos didn't live up to his end of our bargain of having his flunky Morgan train you, and, now, in my first day as your tutor, I'm going to show you exactly what a Zacchara does when someone crosses them.” Sighing, Anthony added, “I had Diane warn Corinthos last week that this very thing might happen if he didn't start dancing to my tune, but, now, my patience has been drained. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”  
  
Oh, if only the old man knew just how much Jason Morgan had, in fact, been mentoring him, had been befriending him. Although it had been challenging, they had managed to slip his guards several times during the past few days in order to finish aligning their plan. Now, with Anthony finally cracking and taking action against Sonny, the last piece of their intricate puzzle was falling into place.  
  
Feigning impatience, he asked, “does all this somehow have something to do with the phone call you insisted upon taking despite the fact that, while you were talking, you kept the two of us waiting?” As Johnny waved between himself and the assassin sitting beside him, the other man didn't even blink, let alone react or say something in concurrence.  
  
“As a matter of fact, it did. That was fate calling. It seems as though the cruel bitch hates Corinthos just as much as I do.”  
  
“Wow, dad, that really tells me so much.”  
  
“You're an ungrateful, brat of a son, but I love you despite your flaws... sometimes,” Anthony told him. Surprisingly, his words came across as pleasant and sincere. Anticipating the murder he was about to order must have been giving him a case of the warm and fuzzies. Smiling, Anthony revealed, “that was my source over at General Hospital. It seems as though Corinthos' pregnant wife, separated though they may be, has just gone into labor and has been emitted.”  
  
Starting to panic, Johnny sat up straight. “You're not going after Alexis Davis or her kid, are you?”  
  
“No, this time I think the message has to be a little more personal than that,” his father mused. Turning towards the trained killer, he explained, “Sonny is claustrophobic, so he'll feel trapped pacing the hospital hallways and will most likely end up on the roof sometime this evening. Add to that the fact that the impending birth of his child always distracts a lesser-minded man, and Corinthos' guard should be down. Just as his wife brings a new life into this world, you'll be snuffing out a life that has worn out its welcome.” Once more, his old man turned back towards Johnny. “See what I mean, son, about fate. She's always at work; you just have to find a way to manipulate her unpredictable whims in your favor – lesson number one.”  
  
Standing, he said, “yeah, because that made so much sense.”  
  
Without waiting for his father to react, Johnny stridently left the Zacchara family's study. If everything went to plan, his dad's training lesson for that morning would be his first and his last, and he'd never again have to set foot in the house that had raised and, at times, tortured him over the years. If everything went to plan, he'd never even see his only living parent again.  
  
Waiting until he was in the safe confines of his own car, Johnny then pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call. “Everything's set,” he informed his audience as soon as the older man picked up.  
  
“Same here,” Jason replied.  
  
Ending the call, they both hung up at the same time. 


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Chapter Thirty-One**

Elizabeth had nothing against Doctor Meadows. She was a well educated, well spoken, well groomed woman – a regular pillar of society, and, if their paths ever crossed outside of the hospital, she was sure that she was just as nice as can be, but there was also a secret part of her which wondered if the older woman, underneath her respectable physician persona, was really a sadist. After all, why else would she want to be a gynecologist?  
  
It didn't matter how many times she sat on top of the reclined chair with leg braces, how many times she donned the stiff, paper thin gowns, or how many times she left without officially having suffered several mental and emotional traumas, Elizabeth was never going to enjoy going to the OB-GYN – _any_ OB-GYN. Like clockwork, she attended her yearly's, but still the annual appointment remained a stain upon the horizon every twelve months that she tried to push aside and forget about until the actual doom's day approached. She had even given birth – twice as it turned out... albeit on the same day, though she had been too doped up by the time they finally removed the babies via cesarean that she had no recollection of what the sensation was actually like.  
  
Perhaps subconsciously it was her doctor's deception in Napa which turned her away from the necessary and beneficial profession, but Elizabeth really didn't think so. She was pretty sure that she just hated going to the gynecologist. Knowing that she wasn't alone in her dread, she wondered why someone – especially another woman who understood the unpleasantness – would ever want to spend her entire life torturing her fellow sex. It was a conundrum she encountered whenever she had a check-up. If nothing else, though, at least her thoughts kept her somewhat distracted.  
  
“Alright, Miss Webber, my office will call you when we have the results back from the tests we took today,” Doctor Meadows informed her. Thankfully, she had redressed several minutes before, and she was just waiting for the all-clear to leave. “However, I don't want you to get your hopes up. From what I saw today, I don't think you'll ever be able to have children.”  
  
“Figures that would be the only piece of the truth that they actually gave me.”  
  
Instead of nodding, apologizing, or simply walking away, the OB-GYN surprised her by taking a seat and leaning forward intently. “Frankly, and I'm not attempting to pry here, but I'm confused as to how you sustained this damage. In fact, perhaps I'm out of line, but no one even knew that you were a mother, Elizabeth. You've been working at GH now for nearly a month, not that I ever see you on my rotation, and there has been absolutely no indication that you had children.”  
  
“I am... and I'm not,” she hedged, unsure of how to answer. “I do... but I don't. Really, Doctor Meadows, it's a complicated situation.”  
  
“I have no doubt, but, as your gynecologist, I think it's important that I know the whole story. Of course, anything that you chose to tell me would remain confidential, that goes without saying... I'd hope.”  
  
Of course, she was right. If the older woman understood the situation that had caused Elizabeth to seek out her professional opinion in the first place, she'd be able to better treat her and any physical issues she might have. On the other hand, though, what had happened to her - what had been done to her – was extremely personal, not to mention painful to talk about. So far, she had only shared the entire story with Jason. In hindsight, she realized that, although the ache was still there in her heart, unburdening herself to him had helped ease some of her grief and anger, but Jason was the father of her children, the man she had secretly, even from herself, carried with her in her heart since she was eighteen years old.  
  
Without realizing it, several silent moments had passed, and Elizabeth didn't become aware of the stretching, gaping silence until Doctor Meadows spoke up once more. “You don't have to tell me everything. What about just the bare facts?”  
  
She nodded in agreement, the motions quick and jerky with tension. “Nearly five years ago, I gave birth to twins... only I was told that _my son – only one –_ died during labor. I just found out recently that both of my children were actually adopted.”  
  
“And the birth itself?”  
  
She didn't offer her sympathy, empty platitudes, or pity, and she didn't suddenly treat her like a leper. “Difficult... from what I can remember. My OB-GYN in Napa told me that, because of how small I am, childbirth would be a struggle for me. Plus, I was huge... which makes much more sense now considering the fact that I was actually pregnant with twins versus just one baby. Anyway, I recall her telling me that the baby wasn't in the right position. They tried to move him around, but, by that time, I was so doped up, I could have just been imagining things. I really don't know. I do know that eventually I had a cesarean, if for no other reason than the scar, but, honestly, I can't really tell you anything else, because I have no idea what happened to me or my kids.”  
  
“Well, if you could give me your physician's name, I'll have my office contact your former doctor, and I'll see if I could have your file sent here. If it's only been five years, they should definitely have everything on record still available.”  
  
“Yeah... we – the father of my children and I – can't actually find the doctor. It seems as though she disappeared exactly a week after I gave birth and was told that my son died.”  
  
“I see,” Doctor Meadows murmured. Sighing, she continued, “Elizabeth, I'm going to be upfront with you, alright?” She nodded for the OB-GYN to keep going. “Small framed and pregnant with breach twins or not, your body never should have sustained the amount of physical damage that it did. The scarring that is present looks more like someone took a carving knife to your insides and purposely attempted to make you barren. It's appalling and horrendous. If your doctor in Napa did this or was even aware that this was done to you, they deserve to be in prison right now. We'll go through with the tests I conducted today just to make sure that there isn't any damage that I haven't been able to spot yet, but I don't need them to tell me that you'll never conceive another child. There is absolutely no chance that you'll ever be pregnant again... not even one of those miracle, one in a million television pregnancies. I'm sorry.”  
  
“I won't lie and say that it doesn't still hurt, but I accepted this fact a long time ago,” Elizabeth responded, shrugging her shoulders once and swallowing thickly in order to tamp down her sorrow. Standing up, she hastily grabbed her things, refusing to meet Doctor Meadow's gaze again. “If you'll excuse me, I'd really like to leave now. I need a few minutes on my own to....”  
  
“Of course. I'll see you next week.”  
  
Without another word, she slipped outside of the exam room. As soon as the door closed behind her, she leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and took a fortifyingly deep breath. She tried to imagine the emotion flowing through her bloodstream and leaving her body with every exhalation. It didn't work, but, still, she remained there, unmoving. Maybe if she clenched her lids together tight enough and closed down her mind, everything else, everyone else would disappear. At least for a moment, that was all she was asking for.  
  
“Oh, shit.”  
  
Blinking her tear laden eyes open, Elizabeth found Patrick standing before her – shock, fear, and panic clearly coloring his otherwise handsome countenance. Despite the fact that she had been avoiding him for weeks, she was suddenly glad for his unannounced arrival. Dealing with their broken relationship and finally giving it the conclusion it warranted if not deserved was just the distraction she needed. “Look, I know neither of us really wanted to have this talk, but I think it's time that we....”  
  
“You're pregnant,” he blurted out, interrupting her.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Sputtering, Patrick stated, “you're carrying my child.”  
  
“No, of course not,” she refuted. “Why would you think.... Oh.” Remembering just whose office she was standing in front of, Elizabeth surprised the hell out of both of them by smiling. “I just had an appointment to confirm that I _can't_ have children. You and your bachelor lifestyle are perfectly safe. I'm not about to saddle you down with a kid you don't want.”  
  
Smirking, she watched as her ex stumbled down the hall several paces until he reached a random couch and collapsed in a grateful heap, his relief towards her news apparent in the loose, languid release of all the former tension he had been experiencing. However, just as quickly as her amusement appeared, it left when she thought about just how different Jason's reaction would have been if he was the last man she had slept with and he saw her walking out of an OB-GYN's office. Her grief rolled over her once more as she realized she would never get to see such an expression upon Jason's face, no matter what their future entailed.  
  
Moving almost against her will, she sat down beside the neurosurgeon. “Sorry about the way things... ended between us. I was a bitch.”  
  
“Yeah, well, we both knew happily ever after wasn't in our future... at least not together.”  
  
“Still, though, Patrick, I should have been more supportive of your decisions, and I should have been willing to discuss my feelings and thoughts with you instead of running away or getting drunk. Hell,” she admitted, rolling her eyes, “I never should have dated you in the first place.”  
  
“Please, don't tell me that suddenly you find me revolting, that my personality is offensive, that you think my confidence is off-putting, and that my choice of profession is not manly enough,” he beseeched her. “Because, trust me, I've heard that enough in the past few weeks to last me a lifetime.”  
  
“Aw, Robin's giving you fits, huh?”  
  
“What... how... I... what did you hear?”  
  
Shaking her head in exasperation, Elizabeth stood up. “I might not like to talk about my own life with my coworkers, but that doesn't mean that they don't tell me about theirs. I know about your little battle of wills with Robin, I know that you kissed her in the stairwell, and I know that between her dating history, her HIV positive status, and her daughter, she scares the crap out of you. That's good. Fear tells you that you're actually living; it means that, with her, you could actually care enough to lose something if things didn't work out, so don't run away from her. Don't let her scare you into running away from her. And don't worry about Cate. If you really want to be with Robin, everything else – including her daughter – will work itself out.”  
  
“And when did you get so wise?”  
  
“Right about the time someone who scares the hell out of me came back into my life.” Waving over her shoulder, she said, “I'll see you around, Patrick.”  
  
He nodded in acceptance before going back to his own thoughts, leaving her, once more, alone. However, her peace was shattered moments later when she watched a frantic Sonny Corinthos rush down the obstetrics and gynecology corridor. His hair was mussed, his suit and silk dress shirt wrinkled, and his guards looked just about ready to shoot themselves in order to avoid further interaction with their boss. Personally, she felt the gun could have been put to better use if simply turned on the man causing the big fuss, but, then again, she also held grudges.  
  
“Sir, you can't go in there yet,” a harried nurse informed Sonny.  
  
Remaining unseen, Elizabeth watched as the mob boss argued, “that is my wife in there, giving birth to my daughter. No one is going to stop me from being there for the birth of my child.”  
  
“And I'm not trying to prevent you from that experience; I'm just trying to make sure that you don't accidentally harm your wife or child by rushing in without taking the necessary precautions first. You need to wash up, and you need to change. The supplies are waiting for you in Miss Davis' room, Mr. Corinthos.”  
  
“It's Mrs. Corinthos,” he grated out.  
  
“Not according to the mother-to-be.”  
  
With that, the nurse swept off, leaving Sonny alone to find his own way towards Alexis' room. As he left, Max and another guard Elizabeth didn't recognize trailing loyally after him, she found herself drowning in insurmountable waves of bitterness and envy. It simply wasn't fair. Sonny deliberately, cruelly took her children away only to receive the joy of experiencing the birth of and raising his own child? Her resentment so strong, in that moment Elizabeth realized that she wanted the man she had at one time considered a good friend to lose just as much if not more than what he had so viciously taken away from her. She knew such thoughts were ugly and, in the long run, wouldn't actually make her feel any better, but she didn't care. Right there, right then, she wanted revenge; she wanted Sonny Corinthos to pay for his crimes against her, against Jason, and against their children. 

} ~ {

“What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
Before Carly could respond, Max stepped forward to intervene. “Mr. C., I really don't think this is the best time or place for this....”  
  
Without glancing at his bodyguard, Sonny ordered, “take Evan. I want one of you guarding the elevator and one of you on the fire-escape door. No one comes onto this floor unless they get through the two of you first.”  
  
“But....”  
  
“Do it,” he barked, sending both of his men scampering away. Although he was dressed for the delivery room, before he went in to support Alexis as she gave birth to his daughter, he needed to know what Carly was doing at the hospital, particularly just yards from where his new wife labored away. “You're following me, aren't you? You have some crazy, hair-brained plan to win me back, and you're here to sabotage this day for me.”  
  
“First of all, I think you're fully capable of sabotaging yourself. You don't need my help, Sonny. And, secondly,” she told him, “getting you back is the last thing I want right now.”  
  
“No, of course not, because Jason's back in town. Too bad he wants nothing to do with you.”  
  
“A sentiment you're familiar with, too, now, aren't you? What's this I've been hearing about Alexis living with Jax for the past month? Trouble in paradise with the new wife already?”  
  
“That's none of your goddamned business,” he snapped, glaring at her.  
  
“Then don't ask me to explain myself to you.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Carly stated, “my reason for being here today doesn't concern you, so back off.”  
  
Before, he had been curious, even nervous about his ex-wife's sudden and unexpected appearance. Now, he was just downright suspicious. She was acting defensive – her crossed arms told him that, and, when Carly became defensive, she started to lie. More. When he first saw her, he would have been satisfied with her merely leaving, but, now, he needed the truth. He needed some answers.  
  
“I'm only going to ask you this one more time: why are you here?”  
  
“I'm volunteering to clean bed pans.” Throwing up her arms, she demanded, “what do you think? I had an appointment, Sonny – you know, a check up.”  
  
“What kind of check up?”  
  
“Maybe if you would have shown this much interest in my well-being when we were married, then we never would have split up,” Carly challenged him.  
  
“Don't try to distract me,” he told her. “The appointment... on this floor?”  
  
She rolled her eyes and huffed with exasperation. “I had my yearly.”  
  
“Hm... that's interesting, considering the fact that I distinctly remember your yearly falling in February every year. Don't lie to me, Carly.”  
  
“And I distinctly remember you divorcing me recently, so excuse the hell out of me,” she exclaimed loudly, shrilly – several staff members were beginning to stare in their direction, “if I got behind on a few personal things. What are you now, Sonny – the gynecologist police?”  
  
And, suddenly, just like that, he knew why his ex-wife was there, just doors down from where his current wife was delivering his daughter. “You're pregnant.”  
  
Immediately, Carly argued, “am not!”  
  
Cruelly, Sonny laughed, “is that the best retort you can come up with? Truly, you're off your game, Carlybabes.”  
  
“Yeah, well....” As her voice trailed off, the piercing wail of a newborn filled the void. “At least I didn't miss the birth of my own child.”  
  
“No, you just ran away afterwards.”  
  
“Sonny, Alexis has been running from you since the moment she found out she was pregnant. This – you missing her entire labor and delivery – I'd say this will be the final nail in the coffin of your marriage. Congratulations, _Dad_. And don't worry,” she informed him snarkily as she sauntered past, “I'll tell Michael – you know, your son – about his new baby sister... even if you can't be bothered to come and see him yourself.”  
  
As Carly sauntered away, he realized that – despite catching her in a lie, despite finding out that she was pregnant no doubt with his child, and despite the fact that he had been the one to leave her in the first place, she had somehow still managed to win their argument, to get the final and better word. It didn't matter, though – her momentary victory, because, not only did he have a new and, from the obvious sounds of her cries, healthy daughter, but he was about to be a father again... to Carly's unborn child.  
  
Smiling widely, he strolled back to Alexis' hospital room to change back out of his scrubs and back into his suit. He had a little girl to greet, calls to make, and not one but two celebratory cigars to smoke. Life was good.

} ~ {

He was pretty sure his hand was broken, he had after-birth smeared all over his scrubs, and he was going to piss himself if he didn't find a bathroom soon, but, still, Jax couldn't stop smiling like a fool. She was here! Alexis did it! His best friend had given birth to her daughter, and it had been the most amazing, most magical experience of his life. He had cried.  
  
“So, what's it going to be, mom,” the nurse filling out the birth certificate asked warmly, a smile tilting the corners of her tired mouth upwards. “That beautiful little girl of yours needs a name.”  
  
“Yeah, Alexis,” he encouraged her. “Is it going to be Jaxina or Jasperella?”  
  
He almost snickered when the maternity nurse's eyes boggled at the sound of his suggestions, but, before he could actually laugh, though, the new mother replied, “Jackeline Chloe Davis.” She then spelled the name as well.  
  
“Are you serious,” Jax asked her, emotion clogging his voice. “Are you sure you want to name your daughter after me? I was just joking before about that, Alexis. You know that, right?”  
  
“Listen to your ego at work,” she playfully chided him. “For your information, I'm naming her after the Jackson Five. What can I say? I'm a fan of their music.” When he rolled his eyes, she laughed. “Of course I'm sure! After all, you're the one who has been filling this little piggy's trough for the past month, not to mention the fact that, if it wasn't for you, neither of us would be here safe, healthy, and alive today. This is my way of thanking you, Jax, so shut up and accept my gracious gesture.”  
  
And he knew it was also her way of also telling him that she wanted him in her daughter's life... as more than just a friend or an uncle. Kissing first Alexis' forehead and then Jackeline's, he stood up and announced, “the two of you should get some rest.”  
  
“But I still have to finish filling out the rest of her birth certificate,” his ex-wife protested.  
  
“Don't worry about it. I'll handle it,” he promised her. With a nod to the nurse, he motioned towards the hall and then left with one last smile for the mother and daughter pair sitting together in the hospital bed. Once the door had shut behind them, he asked the RN, “what's left?”  
  
“I just need the father's information,” she told him. “I can get all of Miss Davis' from her file. Do you know the father's name?”  
  
If he didn't know any better, he would have believed he detected a slight conspiratorial note to the medical professional's tone. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he answered. “Her father's name is Jasper Jacks. Me.”


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

Before entering the Zacchara study, Jason hovered just outside on the patio, surreptitiously studying his target. He didn't have to worry about being spotted by a guard, for Johnny had used scheduling confusion to remove all of his father's men without making anything seem too obvious, and Anthony was totally oblivious to his lack of defenses. That left Jason with the luxury of time, something he rarely if ever had experienced on past jobs.   
  
If nothing else could be said about Crimson Point, it was peaceful at night, quiet – the perfect place to commit murder. The stillness of the place made him feel cool and collected, but that calm rapidly disintegrated when Jason noticed just what had the old man so engrossed. Leaning back in his chair, the file he was looking at – held out to accommodate failing eyesight, Anthony sat reading a dossier on Nadine Cassadine, soon to be Crowell again: Johnny's girlfriend and Elizabeth's coworker. Though he didn't know what his enemy's interest was exactly in the young nurse, knowing very well how little Anthony thought of women and how he treated him, Jason knew the elder Zacchara's attention towards the single mother was decidedly bad.  
  
Good thing the world was finally going to be free of the old man in a matter of minutes.  
  
Taking a step forward so that his boot sounded against the rug covered hardwood floors, Jason, wordlessly, announced his presence. “Is that you again, John? I didn't think you'd be back here tonight? Hell, after our meeting earlier, I thought I'd have to drag you back kicking and screaming for our next lesson. But, since you're here....” Anthony swiveled his chair around. “You're not my son.”  
  
“I never thought anything or anyone could ever make me grateful for the Quartermaine's, but you just did the impossible. No,” he emphasized, “I'm not Johnny.”  
  
“What can I do for you this evening then, Mr. Morgan? If you're here because you found out about that little hit I put out on your boss, I'm afraid you're too late.”  
  
“Nope. You were supposed to do that.”  
  
“I was,” Anthony questioned in astonishment. His bafflement, though, quickly turned to animosity. “Hey, what the hell is going on around here? Where are my men?”  
  
“The strangest thing happened today. It turns out there was some schedule mess up, and all the guards were told to take the night off. It's strange how these things can happen sometimes, right?” With every word he said, his voice became colder and colder, more calculating.  
  
“Look, Corinthos got what was coming to him for breaking our deal.”  
  
“No,” Jason argued. “Sonny got what was coming to him for making a deal with you in the first place.”  
  
“Oh, so you finally found out about that, huh,” the old man asked, then laughed. “Whoops. Too bad about the brats. And I heard they were real cute, too.”  
  
“It doesn't matter what you say, I'm still going to kill you, but do you really think it's wise to piss me off right now? After all, the angrier I get, no doubt the more painful this will be for you.” Showing emotion for the first time, he yelled, “do not talk about my sons!”  
  
“Your sons, huh,” Anthony repeated mockingly. “No, we wouldn't want to talk about them now, would we?” Using his feet to propel his chair into spinning motion, the mob boss said, “so, you're here to take me out, huh – revenge against me for stealing your kids? Hey, some people would say that I did you favor. I saved you the burden of raising two brats you didn't want, and I made sure that they went to good homes. Why, the little darlings have been safe and sound, far, far away from our world for almost – what? - five years now.” The chair stopped, and Johnny's father grinned. “Saint Anthony does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”  
  
“The only reason my sons were put up for adoption and not merely gotten rid of is because of your son. You don't fool me, old man. You would have had them murdered.”  
  
“Well, there is a severe population crisis on our hands these days.”  
  
Ignoring him, Jason said, “but that's not the only reason why you're dying tonight, Anthony.”  
  
“Enlighten me then, Morgan. Share with me all my sins. After all, if tonight's to be my last night, at least make it enjoyable.”  
  
“Not only did you steal my children away from me, but you stole them from their mother, too. You had the doctor tell her that her son – not sons – that her son died, and she's had to live with that – alone, without me – for years. You've controlled and tortured Johnny all his life, not to mentioned the fact that you killed his mother. You peddle drugs, you run a prostitution ring, and you sell weapons to terrorists.”  
  
“Aw, yes, of course,” Anthony mocked, “the gangster with a heart.” Maniacally, the don shouted, “when you're in the mob, you're supposed to do those things, you brain damaged fool!”  
  
“... not to mention all the lives you've taken over the years. Tell me. Just how many people have you killed exactly?”  
  
“You're one to talk. You were Corinthos' enforcer for years, Morgan.”  
  
“Yeah, but I was good at avoiding collateral damage; you sought to create it on purpose.”  
  
“What can I say,” the old man queried rhetorically. “ I like the sounds of children screaming and mother's weeping. It helps me go to sleep at night.”  
  
“Well, you won't have to worry about insomnia anymore,” Jason assured him.  
  
“As for a number....,” the about to be murdered gangster continued undaunted by the taunt. “I'd say that between my own hand and those of my men, I've been responsible for hundreds of deaths, but, unfortunately, I only remember the ones that I took care of myself. I think it's the scent of blood that makes them so memorable. Delicious. It's nearly sweeter than the scent of my roses.”  
  
“Speaking of your roses,” Jason finally segued, sliding forward to stand behind Anthony's chair, his free, gloved left hand going down to push the other man into his seat just in case he got any ideas of attempting to escape. “You're a fine gardener.”  
  
“Thank you, Morgan!” Johnny's father even smiled in accepting the compliment.  
  
“In fact, I've never seen larger, more effective... thorns before.”  
  
Confused, Anthony said, “huh?”  
  
“On my way here, I stopped to smell the roses. When one of them pricked my finger, I realized just how dangerous they would be if handled negligently. I mean, some of those thorns are sharp enough to cut a man's throat. Did you know that, Mr. Zacchara?”  
  
“No, but I'm sure you're going to demonstrate that very fact to me in about five....”  
  
The rest of the monster's words were garbled with pooling blood as Anthony choked on his own rapidly depleting life source. Jason dropped the rose and left. 

} ~ {

Though it didn't make much sense, Sonny knew that the world looked more beautiful through the haze of his cigar smoke that evening. Standing on the roof of General Hospital, he gazed out at the city he controlled, the city that he practically owned, and smiled. Though he had yet to stop by and see Alexis and his daughter, just the knowledge of his little girl's arrival made him feel as though he could do anything. Perhaps that was why the first person he called, after lighting his cigar, was his accountant.  
  
“Bernie,” Sonny immediately set into the beleaguered older man, not caring what he was doing or how late it was. He paid his employees enough money, they should always be available and at his disposal. “I need you to find me a new attorney.”  
  
“But, Sir, I don't understand,” the older man protested. “The temporary team we put in place to help out during Miss Davis' pregnancy have been working out fine. Business has been running smoothly. In fact, our profit margins have actually gone up this quarter, especially with the coffee. It seems as though Mr. Morgan's presence back in town once more is reassuring clients and customers... just as it always has in the past.”  
  
“I don't want to hear about Jason,” Sonny snapped, his good mood immediately shattered. “He has nothing to do with this.”  
  
“Of course, Mr. Corinthos,” Bernie responded.  
  
He could hear the placating note in his accountant's voice, but he chose to appreciate it rather than resent it. “And this isn't about business either. This is personal.”  
  
“Oh, if you've been arrested again...?”  
  
Flicking ash from his cigar, Sonny impatiently replied, “no, I haven't been arrested. Alexis give birth to my daughter today.”  
  
“Congratulations, Sir!”  
  
“Thanks,” he offered automatically. “And now I need you to find me a lawyer who will win me sole custody of her.”  
  
“Uh..., Sir,” the older man questioned ineptly. “I'm afraid I don't understand? Shouldn't you be off spending time with your wife and daughter instead of trying to think of ways to separate them?”  
  
“Don't tell me what I should and should not do, Bernie,” Sonny screamed. Without something to hit or break, he had to make do with expressing his frustration through his voice. “Weeks ago, that Candy-boy, Jax, came to me with divorce papers, wanting me to sign them before he gave them to Alexis as a present.”  
  
“And did you?”  
  
“Of course not,” he bellowed. Had his accountant always been so disloyal, questioning his authority and he had just overlooked it, or had he missed the unsavory fact altogether? “However, it's only a matter of time before our separation becomes official, and, when it does, I want to be prepared. Nobody, especially not some bastard daughter of Mikkos Cassadine's, is going to take my child away from me.”  
  
Tiredly, the older man sighed. “Yes, Sir. I'll start looking right away. Is there anything else?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sonny told him. “When you hire someone, have them start on a custody suit against Carly as well.”  
  
“You're taking her back to court to fight for Little Michael?”  
  
“No,” he answered dismissively, wrinkling his brow in frustration. Shouldn't his men – especially Bernie - anticipate his needs better than this? “Carly's pregnant.”  
  
“Oh dear lord,” the numbers' man lamented quietly to himself.  
  
Sonny just ignored him. “The baby's mine - I just know it, and I'm not going to let Carly raise my kid. And if she thinks she's going to pull another paternity switch on me like she did all those years ago on A.J., she has another thing coming. She'll give birth, and that'll be the last contact she has with my child.”  
  
“Are you sure you don't want to request a paternity test first, Sir?”  
  
Just as he went to respond, Sonny felt a pair of hands shove against his back. “What the...?” But it was already too late.  
  
What they said about dreams and falling proved to be true. Even though he wasn't asleep, by the time he landed on the pavement below seconds later, Sonny Corinthos was dead.

} ~ {

Electing for a clean end to her brother's interference in her life, Claudia had called and set up a meeting with Jason Morgan. Although it had been difficult to let go of her grandiose dreams of removing both Johnny and Jason from her competition with one swift, concise move, she regretfully – but not without complaint – had observed Nikolas' request and had not gone after the former enforcer's jugular. Instead of torturing him with news of his stolen children, she was simply going to present him with the birth certificates she had found buried and hidden underneath far too much bureaucracy to be a coincidence. Sonny Corinthos and her father were good; she was better, though.  
  
Because she wanted their meeting to take place somewhere public but also private enough so that they could have a quiet conversation without interruption or being eavesdropped upon, Claudia had insisted that Jason meet her at Kelly's diner – a little hole in the wall dive on the docks that Nikolas insisted upon buying his coffee at. She hated the place, but they were open late, and she found it particularly poignant that the little milk maid who had given birth to Morgan's brats had once worked at the popular eatery. It was just one more hot coal in her fire. She couldn't wait to burn the legendary Jason Morgan.  
  
She was startled out of her thoughts when the very person starring in them took a seat silently and wordlessly across from her. Breathing heavily to sooth her nerves, she snapped, “what are you, part cat? Say something the next time for Christ's sake.”  
  
“I highly doubt there will be a next time, Miss Zacchara.”  
  
“Well, aren't we the formal one,” she smirked, her eyes purposefully crinkling in what she knew to be an attractive manner. “I hadn't heard that about you.”  
  
“So, then, not only do you scare easily, but you also believe everything you hear as well?” Jason shook his head in disapproval. “Those are not good qualities in this business.”  
  
“Look, I can handle myself,” she told him tartly. Throwing the file folder she carried with her towards him, she challenged, “after all, I found these when you didn't even know they existed, didn't I?”  
  
Morgan flipped the folder open long enough to glance at the heading of the first paper within before closing it once more. “Thanks.”  
  
“ _Thanks. Thanks!_ ,” she repeated, livid. “That's all you have to say to me. I just showed you your children's birth certificates, children that you didn't even know that you had.”  
  
“Actually, Claudia, I've known about my kids for weeks now, but, like I said, thanks. Their mother will appreciate this. Maybe we'll frame them. Whatever we do, I'll make sure she sends you a nice thank you note.”  
  
“How the hell did you... oh my god,” she realized, blanching considerably. “All this time, all this time you've been working with my brother, haven't you? You and Johnny are what – partners or something?”  
  
Morgan shrugged. If he could have appeared any more disinterested in what she had to say, in their meeting, she would have been floored. “We're friends.”  
  
With renewed vigor, she challenged, “ah, so he told you about your long lost brats, huh, but did he tell you that he was one who set the adoptions up, that he was the one who essentially stole your bastard children away from you? I bet your _friend_ didn't confess his part in my father's crimes.”  
  
She watched, quickly sitting back, as Jason leaned across the table and whispered, “don't you ever talk about my kids that way, or, unlike them, I'll make sure that nobody finds you again.” Jerkily, Claudia nodded her submission, and he returned to his previous position. “As for your accusations – not that I owe you any answers, but I'd rather have all of this taken care of now instead of you thinking that you can use me to do your dirty work for you in the future, so, yes, Johnny told me that he was the one who orchestrated the adoptions. In fact, he's helping me track down my children... amongst other things.”  
  
“Other things,” she questioned hesitantly.  
  
Ignoring her, Jason called out for the only waitress working the late shift. “Penny?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Morgan? Do you want me to bring you some coffee – black, I remember even after all these years?”  
  
“Not tonight, Penny, but thanks,” the ex-enforcer replied casually. “Actually, I was hoping that you wouldn't mind turning on the television and directing it in Miss Zacchara's direction. Word is there's about to be a breaking news announcement, and I think she'll want to hear what's said.”  
  
As the graduate student did as he asked, Claudia demanded to know, “what the hell are you and my brother up to?”  
  
“Ssh,” Jason commanded her. “You don't want to miss the story. Trust me, it's one that this town will never forget.”  
  
 _“It's been a bizarre night in Port Charles this evening,” the reported opened, looking earnestly into the camera as a red and blue light show flashed across the outside walls of the building behind her. “In what could only be described as fate finally taking a hand and stepping in to do what most have accused the police for years of failing to accomplish, organized crime has virtually been eliminated by two separate cases of homicide and one shocking arrest. Earlier, right here at General Hospital, local reputed mob boss, Sonny Corinthos, was pushed to his death. According to a medical professional first on the scene, it appears as though Mr. Corinthos fell from the roof after someone forced him over the edge. His unrecognizable body was identified by the license he was carrying inside of his wallet._  
  
“The second homicide being reported is the death of Mr. Anthony Zacchara, another reputed mob boss who operates from his home, Crimson Pointe, further downstate. However, it is unclear whether or not Zacchara's death was murder or a suicide. According to an anonymous source, it appears as though Mr. Zacchara's death was caused by a rose thorn slicing through the elderly man's jugular. He bled out almost instantaneously.  
  
“And, then, finally, our last piece of breaking news is perhaps the most shocking of all. Though it comes as no surprise that two allegedly violent men met such violent ends, it is shocking that Nikolas Cassadine, head of Cassadine Industries and a European Prince, no less, who previously considered an upstanding member of our community, giving millions annually to charity, was arrested this evening on multiple counts of racketeering. Though the FBI will not officially release a statement pertaining to Mr. Cassadine's case until tomorrow, the rumor is that it is strong and that he'll be going away for a very long time. Make sure you stay tuned to Channel....”  
  
“That's good, Penny,” Morgan called out, actually smiling. Before their meeting, Claudia had heard from several reliable sources that Jason wasn't even capable of such an expression. “I think Miss Zacchara has heard all that she needed to.”  
  
Standing up, he threw several bills down onto the table despite not having ordered a thing. “What the hell did you and my brother do?”  
  
Refusing to answer her question, he instead said, “go back to your day job, Claudia. Leave Port Charles; go back to Rome, because I don't have time for you or your petty, little girl games. You're done here.”  
  
And she was. He was right.  
  
Pulling out her cell phone, she was dialing the airlines before Morgan had even crossed the diner's threshold. Even once he was gone, though, his shadow still remained behind, and Claudia knew she'd be looking over her shoulder, always anticipating a terrifying glimpse of him, for the rest of her life. Once again, Johnny had somehow managed to beat her, only, this time, he had also figured out a way to remove her from the game. As she prepared to ask for the first flight out of town, Claudia had to choke down a blistering sob of despair.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

Robin hated things that couldn't be explained by logic. That was probably why she avoided anything and everything supernatural or unknown. She'd never watched a single episode of The X-Files, she wouldn't be able to recall which channel the SYFY network was on if her life depended upon it, and forget about vampires. Medically speaking, such an entity was more than improbable; it was impossible, so she ignored Anne Rice, shunned Buffy, and flippantly asked Dracula Who? It drove Maxie insane, but it allowed Robin the peace of mind she constantly craved.  
  
Even emotions she could explain away using reason and deduction. Many said that love was both the most simple and the most challenging feeling in the world, but she knew why she loved the people in her life. She loved her daughter because she was trusting, loyal, and pure – a blank slate that Robin got to witness being filled with knowledge and experience on a daily basis. She loved Maxie because she made her laugh, Mac because he had taken care of her when her actual parents couldn't be bothered, and Georgie for her sweet, caring nature. To her, love wasn't complicated. However, she was finding the whole idea of grief to be rather daunting.  
  
Although she had lost people in the past – Stone and her parents, it had been a long time since someone Robin cared for had passed away. Though her patients died all the time, their deaths were often merciful and, if not desired, than at least expected and anticipated. Plus, one of the first rules of medicine, second only to do no harm, was that doctors were to always remain emotionally unattached to their patients – professionally kind yet, at the same time, professionally distant, and, if nothing else, she was good at following the rules.  
  
Sonny's death, though.... Not only had she been unprepared for the sudden loss, but Robin had also been blindsided by just how deeply it had affected her. The fact that Sonny Corinthos' life had met a violent end wasn't shocking. Between his lifestyle and his penchant for making bad decisions, it had only been a matter of time, really, but, still, she grieved. Deeply.  
  
She had been in the middle of a shift when the news broke. When she realized, as she watched the media coverage, that his death had occurred so near yet she had not been aware of it until the breaking report, Robin had been momentarily shocked, unable to feel anything but astonishment. The pain and sorrow, however, came rolling in with a vengeance seconds later, totally obliterating her ability to function. Somehow, she had managed to flee her office and struggle through the hospital without being seen. Although she had wanted to go to him... even if he was no longer living and capable of realizing that she was by his side, she had not been able to make it to the morgue. Rather, half way there, her resolve had crumbled, and she had barely managed to slide into an empty patient room, the door shutting automatically behind her as she slid helplessly into the clinical space's only bed.  
  
“I thought I might find you here.”  
  
Startled by both the owner of the recognizable voice and the intrusion, Robin sat up quickly, wiping her face of the evidence of her tears though she knew such efforts were futile. Even if she did manage to eradicate the trails of moisture tracking their way down her cheeks and onto her chin and neck, her eyes would still be swollen with emotion, her nose red and puffy from crying. She looked horrible, and the very last person she wanted to witness her falling apart was the very same man standing in the doorway. So, like always when she didn't know how to react to Patrick Drake, she fell back upon an old favorite: animosity and bitter sarcasm.  
  
“In this room? Is it special for some reason? Did I miss that memo? Were you following me?”  
  
He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the jamb, and kept the door propped open with a casually extended foot. “No. What I meant was that I thought I'd find you like this – alone, upset, in need of a friend.”  
  
“And you thought you'd come yourself,” she questioned disbelievingly. “When's your birthday, Doctor Drake, because you need a dictionary. You and me? We're not friends.”  
  
“No, I guess we're not,” he agreed, still not rising to the challenges she was presenting. Moving forward and allowing the door to shut behind him, Patrick entered the room. Within seconds, it was dark once more, and the only way that she could make out where he was at all was the fact that he was wearing his white lab coat. Like the unwanted specter he was, the neurosurgeon moved about the room like a cartoon image of a ghost... not that she believed in ghosts, though. “However, I could be a shoulder for you,” he announced suddenly, breaking into her line of thought. “You could cry, and I'd hold you, and, then, tomorrow, we could return to our usually scheduled program of juvenile flirting.”  
  
“We don't flirt.”  
  
“Well, I don't know about you, but I certainly do,” he informed her. “How about it, Scorpio? My shoulders are strong – I work out everyday, and my cologne, if I do say so myself, smells pretty damn good.”  
  
Throwing up her arms in exasperation, Robin exclaimed, “I don't even know why I'm so upset. Sonny and I haven't been close in years. Between what happened between him and Brenda.....”  
  
“Who's Brenda,” Patrick questioned, interjecting.  
  
“My best friend... who's now dead.” At his blank look, she explained further, “Brenda Barrett – the fashion model, she and Sonny were involved with one another off and on for years. A long time ago, he left her at the alter, and nothing was ever the same again for Brenda after that. Eventually, her mother drove them off a bridge, but that's not the point. The point is that between Brenda, Carly – Sonny's ex-wife and a woman I've always loathed, and, now, his behavior towards Alexis, his current wife, he's not the man I thought I once knew... or, at least, he wasn't. I guess he isn't anything now, is he?”  
  
Surprising her, Patrick took a seat beside her on the bed, reaching out so as to turn her shoulders to face him. “Dead or not, he's your last connection to Stone.”  
  
Robin gasped. “How did you... I never... but...?”  
  
“I might be an insensitive jerk sometimes, and I know that I drive you crazy, but I do listen to you when you talk to me, and, when you told me about the man you loved and lost, I was paying attention. Right or wrong, good guy or bad guy, it was Sonny Corinthos who got you through losing your first boyfriend. He was Stone's best friend and mentor; he was your friend, too, and, now, he's gone as well. Of the three of you, you're the only one left, so, yeah, of course, you're going to be a little upset.”  
  
Sniffling, she confessed, “my Uncle Mac would have blown a gasket, but you know I had plans to take Cate to meet Sonny. Stone might not be her father, but I named her after him, and I like to think that he's looking out for her... somehow. I wanted Sonny to tell her about him, give her a different perspective than the one I've always provided her with. You know,” she confided, smiling in recollection, “Sonny had this way about him. When he cared about you, I mean _really_ cared about you, he could make you feel as though you were the only person in the world, and, when he told stories, especially happy ones that made him smile, he was infectious. I wanted... I wanted Cate to experience that, but now she never will.”  
  
“So, you'll tell her about him – the good parts, of course – just like you tell her about Stone,” Patrick suggested, shrugging.  
  
“Yeah,” was all she could say before more tears fell and a fresh sob ripped from her tight, pained chest. Quickly, she turned away from him, hoping to hide her emotions and dash her tears away.  
  
Before she could fully slip outside his grasp, though, Patrick had an arm wrapped around her and was tugging her back towards his chest. Part unwillingly yet part gratefully at the same time, she fell against and into his embrace. “It's okay to be upset, Scorpio,” he told her softly, soothingly. If she didn't know any better, Robin would have thought she felt him kiss the top of her head, but such an action would have been too sweet, too... non-cad-like. “No matter what you want me and the rest of the world to think, you're not a machine. You're allowed to have feelings.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you don't,” she accused, still speaking against his shirt, not ready to pull away despite knowing he'd use her moment of weakness against her for months... if not years to come.  
  
“Oh, trust me, I feel things. A lot,” Patrick admitted.  
  
“Right,” Robin challenged, finally sitting up. Glaring at him, she pushed against his chest and accused, “let me guess. Right now, you're probably feeling smug, arrogant, and as though you've finally bested me.”  
  
“Not even close.”  
  
Petulantly, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? Alright then. Enlighten me,” she ordered. “Tell me what's really going on inside you right now.”  
  
Baffled, she watched as Patrick reached out, picked up one of her hands, and then settled it on his lap. For a moment, his actions didn't register on her emotionally drained and physically exhausted mind. Seconds later, though, her eyes flew open in wide acknowledgment, and her mouth dropped into a silent, gaping 'O.'  
  
“Say something,” he requested.  
  
“What... did you have to leave a nurse behind in a storage closet to come and find me?”  
  
“No, trust me, that's all for you, Robin.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I don't want it,” she informed him passionately.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Of course I'm sure,” she blustered. Thankfully, it was dark, so she was pretty sure that Patrick couldn't see her blush. “I'm grieving right now. Since when and in what world did that ever translate into horniness?”  
  
“I don't know,” the neurosurgeon responded casually, leaning forward to brace his arms around her, crowding her personal space. “I've always found that sex makes me forget just about anything... including death. After all, nothing makes me feel more alive than a good, old-fashioned....”  
  
“Screw,” Robin finished for him.  
  
“You have a dirty mind, Scorpio.” She watched him grin. “I like it.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I don't like you.”  
  
“Hate sex is just as powerful as any other kind. Perhaps even more so,” Patrick retorted.  
  
“We're not sleeping together.” Searching for an excuse that he would actually listen to rather than just her own personal arguments against the crazy, hair-brained idea, Robin said frantically, “don't forget that I have HIV, and I highly doubt that you brought a condom with....”  
  
“Check the right front pocket of my lab coat,” he interrupted her. When she dug through her right, he corrected, “the other right.” Low and behold, she found a glow in the dark, ribbed, extra-large condom.  
  
“You've got to be kidding me! You brought contraception with you, knowing that I would be upset and probably crying, thinking what – that you'd take advantage of me when I was weak and at my most vulnerable?”  
  
“You're never weak, and I was kind of hoping that you'd take advantage of me,” he replied cheekily. What do you say, Scorpio? Do you like the top?”  
  
Before she could reply, he closed the distance between them and kissed her. Somehow, when she went to protest, to push him away, her mouth, instead, opened under his assault, and her hands pulled him closer. Seconds, minutes later – her addled brain couldn't tell, they finally separated, both breathless. “You, ugh, you kissed me,” Robin yelled, glowering and struggling to get away.  
  
“Don't act so repulsed. You kissed me back, and you liked it.”  
  
“Right, because I loved being mauled by immature, arrogant, over-sexed playboys who think that they are....”  
  
When he kissed her the second time that night, neither of them stopped, and, afterwards, as they lay entwined in the narrow, lumpy hospital bed together, Robin realized that, for the first time in years, the rest of the world had melted away, and she was finally just living in the moment. The peace and relaxation felt good... almost as good as the orgasm but not quite. However, she'd go another six years without sex if it meant ever admitting such a thing to Patrick Drake. Seeing as how she was hoping he had another condom hidden somewhere in his discarded pile of clothes, it was a very good thing that she was an excellent secret keeper. Now, she just had to find a way to keep the truth from Maxie.  
  
Realizing she better enjoy the sex while she could, Robin initiated the second round. Patrick, of course, did not protest. 

} ~ {

As yet another knock – the sound that had roused her from a very deep, much needed rest – rapped against her wooden front (and only) door, Nadine yawned, stretching the muscles of her face and mumbled, “who in the world...?”  
  
It was late... as was usually the case when one's slumber was interrupted, and she wasn't one to get late night visitors. The only person she could possibly think of that could be outside her apartment was her brother, but Damien had his own key. Unless he lost it again which wouldn't be that too far of a stretch, then her guest was even more unexpected. While she was making new friends at the hospital, she didn't think that either Elizabeth or Robin would just stop by, especially unannounced. Plus, there was Johnny. Just thinking of her boyfriend – there, she said it! – put a dopey smile on Nadine's face, but she didn't think he would come over without calling first. Since the first night they had met, Johnny had always been terribly considerate of the fact that she was a mother. Even if she dared to surprise him after a night of drinking for what essentially turned out to be a booty call, she knew that he would never return the favor... no matter how much, at the moment, the idea appealed to her.  
  
So, it was with that thought in mind that she opened the door, and it was because of that thought that had her blushing scarlet from the roots of her naturally blonde hair to the farthest edge of her nightgown where her pale, flushed skin was finally covered up by the concealing fabric of her sleepwear. Nadine was just about to raise a fist in order to rub away the sleep gathered in the corners of her eyes when she realized whom she was gazing upon. “Miss Miller?”  
  
“I take it you were expecting someone else,” the always blunt lawyer stated, eyeing her more than casual dress.  
  
“Actually, I wasn't expecting anyone, hence the pajamas,” she answered.  
  
“So, I take it you haven't watched the news this evening then?”  
  
“No,” Nadine replied, suddenly wide away and nervous. Speaking slowly due to her apprehension, she explained, “I used to, but watching the news in this town could make the clinically manic depressed. Why?” Losing her calm, she started to panic, “what's wrong? What's happened? It's not Damien, is it? I told him that he shouldn't walk around campus alone so late at night, especially after Nikolas threatened him. While I know that you said that you took....”  
  
Clearing her throat, Diane interrupted, “your brother, as far as I am aware, is quite alright. He's probably safe and sound, tucked away under his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, or Pokemon, or whatever his nerd obsession of the month is sheets as we speak. I see that I made the right decision, though, to spring this on you slowly. Being easily excited must run in your family.”  
  
“We Crowells do tend to be... slightly high strung.”  
  
“Yes, and I can have my bitchy moments.” Taking a deep breath, Miss Miller forthrightly said, “earlier this evening, Nikolas was arrested.”  
  
“For what?” At the attorney's raised brow, she expounded, “not that I'm surprised he did anything illegal, but he actually allowed himself to be caught... by the PCPD?”  
  
“It was actually the FBI who nabbed him,” Diane informed her.  
  
“Oh,” Nadine replied, nodding. “That makes more sense.”  
  
“And, to answer your previous question, it was on racketeering charges. Details have not yet been released to the press, but the 411 is that the counts should stick.”  
  
“Oh my god,” she gasped. The weight of the news finally crashing down upon her, she stumbled back.  
  
“Well, this is rather bewildering. I never thought you'd react this way. In fact, I actually thought you'd do a little jig, a shuffle in your slippers if you will. After everything that Nikolas has put you through, for you to still care about his welfare this deeply, you're either too compassionate for your own good or a damned fool,” Diane accused her.  
  
“No, not Nikolas; Spencer,” Nadine shrieked. “His father was just arrested, not that Nikolas has ever been a very good dad, but, still, what's going to happen to my son?”  
  
Miss Miller smiled then, a self-pleased, cat-ate-the-canary, smug grin. “I'm so glad that you asked.” Waving off to the side, the lawyer called out, “she's ready now, John.”  
  
Before she could question the older woman, a puzzled Nadine watched as the new man in her life led the son she shared with her soon-to-be ex-husband forward, a strange yet not unfriendly appearing woman trailing behind them. However, her confusion could wait. It had been weeks since she had seen her little boy, and the only thing that mattered to her in that moment was getting to spend time with Spencer – comforting him, loving him, making sure that he was going to be alright with the astonishing and painful loss of his father. She immediately dropped down to her knees, and, as soon as a nearly asleep Spencer saw her, he broke free of Johnny's hand and ran into her arms.  
  
“If either of you cry,” Diane threatened, “I walk now. No explanations.”  
  
“Give them a break,” Johnny teasingly ordered the attorney. “This is a big, important moment for them.”  
  
“Just as long as it doesn't get too emotional,” the redhead warned.  
  
At the sound of a throat being cleared, Nadine looked up and met the gaze of the stranger standing before her. Rising back to her feet, she picked Spencer up and brought him with her, balancing the little boy on her left hip. “I'm sorry. I'm being rude,” she apologized, holding out her free, right hand. “I'm Nadine Cassadine, soon-to-be Crowell again. And you are...?”  
  
The other woman shook her proffered palm. “My name is Susan Reynolds. I'm a social worker.” At those two words, words that every parent feared, Nadine took a step back, clutching her son even tighter. “Please, don't be afraid of me. I'm not here to take your children – either of them away from you. In fact, thanks to Miss Miller's quick thinking and impressive work, you've already been declared Spencer Cassadine's sole guardian. The court was already aware of your custody petition, and, with his father's arrest this evening, Miss Miller here somehow managed to wrangle an emergency hearing. The judge ruled in her favor, and you've been granted sole custody of both of your children.”  
  
“Wow. That's... amazing,” she breathed out, completely shocked. “I thought family court usually took a lot longer than that.”  
  
“It usually does,” the social worker admitted. “Apparently, though, you have some very good friends in some very high places, Miss Crowell.”  
  
“I guess I do.”  
  
“Now, if you'll excuse me, it's late, I'm tired, and I have yet another long day ahead of me tomorrow,” Ms. Reynolds said. “My office will be contacting you to complete all the necessary paperwork. Good luck, congratulations, and have a good evening.” With a nod, the woman quietly left, disappearing around a corner of the long, winding hallway.  
  
“I should be going to,” Miss Miller announced. “I want a drink, and I think that the two of you – excuse me, the three of you – would like to be alone for a little while. Just don't do anything I wouldn't do,” she warned Johnny with a warm, conspiratorial wink.  
  
“And that would be what exactly,” Nadine's boyfriend asked the attorney.  
  
“I'm not sure, but, when I figure it out, I'll let you know,” Diane responded with a laugh. She was still tittering amusedly to herself as she walked away.  
  
“Come in,” Nadine offered with a nod towards the inside of her apartment. Once all three of them were inside, Johnny shut the door, and she said, “just let me put him down for the night, and then I'll be right back.”  
  
Between the excitement and the emotional weight of the evening, Spencer was asleep in her bed within minutes, and Nadine was quickly able to rejoin Johnny in her living room. She found him wandering about, glancing at all the pictures of her kids and family that she had displayed around the room. Just seeing him there, amongst reminders of everyone else that she loved, felt so right she almost couldn't say a word in fear that she'd tell him never to leave. However, they had only been dating for a short time, and, no matter how right being with Johnny felt, she had been burned by a quick courtship the last time, and, if nothing else, Crowells, even if they were slightly high strung, did not make the same mistake twice. Plus, they had things they needed to talk about.  
  
“I know that you had something to do with Nikolas' arrest tonight,” she opened, holding up a hand when he went to say something. Whether it was to refute or support her statement, she didn't know. “However, I don't want to know the details. Whatever happened, I'm just grateful for the results. In jail, Nikolas won't be able to come after my brother, he won't be able to fight me on the divorce, and, most importantly, he won't be able to keep me from my children, so thank you.”  
  
Offering her a crooked smile, Johnny simply replied, “you're welcome.”  
  
Crossing to him, Nadine wrapped her arms around his neck. “I'd ask you to stay, but....”  
  
“I know,” he told her, kissing her softly. “I get it. Tonight is Spencer's first night with you again, and he doesn't know me. You guys are going to need to adjust, and you're probably going to want to be careful just in case... whether Diane assured me those kids are yours no matter what or not.”  
  
Shaking her head, she refuted his assumptions by simply saying, “first thing tomorrow morning, I'm looking for a bigger place.” Grinning, she added, “I had to put Spencer in my bed, so that means I'll be taking the couch tonight. I like you. A lot. But not enough to share my tiny, uncomfortable couch with you, especially not since I have to work tomorrow morning.”  
  
Johnny smiled broadly. “I'd take the floor,” he offered, making her laugh.  
  
Playfully, she pushed him towards the door, opened it, and then pushed him outside into the hallway. “I'll see you tomorrow. We'll go to the park – you, me, and the kids. Maybe I'll ask my friends to come, too – finally officially introduce you to everyone... as my boyfriend.”  
  
“It's a date,” he promised her.  
  
“No,” Nadine argued. “It's so much more than that.” With one last kiss, she said goodnight, shut the door, and smiled. 

} ~ {

As Jason crept into the studio quietly, Elizabeth smiled to herself. “I'm awake,” she told him, tossing the blanket aside in an invitation for him to join her on the new blow-up mattress she had purchased that evening before going home.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“So, you don't have to sneak around in an effort not to wake me. Not that you're overly loud when you're not trying to be quiet, but, still, you know what I mean.”  
  
“I do,” he assured her.  
  
He always did.  
  
Second later, Jason crawled under the thin sheet with her, dressed in nothing but his underwear. Slowly, as the weeks had been passing by, they had gotten more and more comfortable around each other physically, especially after her drunken confessions a few nights prior. For a moment, they laid there side by side, not touching, until Elizabeth summoned up her courage and crawled into his embrace. As soon as his arms closed around her, he asked, “how was your appointment?”  
  
“Just like I thought it would be,” Elizabeth answered. “Bad.”  
  
“So, then, Doctor Meadows agreed with your earlier diagnosis?”  
  
“She's still waiting on test results just to make sure that there isn't even more damage than she initially thought, but, yeah, she confirmed that I can't have anymore children.”  
  
She was just going to leave it at that. To tell him that the OB-GYN believed the damage to her reproductive system had been done intentionally wouldn't help matters at all. In fact, it would just make Jason more upset, for he would feel even more useless. Her wounds were something he couldn't fix, couldn't make better, and, if there was one thing in the world that could frustrate Jason Morgan, it was a sense of futility.  
  
However, he seemed to sense her reluctance and asked, “what? What aren't you telling me?”  
  
“It's nothing,” she assured him. “Nothing important, at least.”  
  
“Elizabeth,” he pressed.  
  
“Fine!” Quickly mumbling her response, she said, “Doctor Meadows thinks that the damage was done on purpose.”  
  
“Your doctor on Sonny's orders?” Though his tone and words were calm, she could feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface of Jason's chest where she rested her head.  
  
“Sonny's or Anthony's – I don't know, but it doesn't matter now, because what's done is done. We can't do anything to fix what they broke inside of me, and, even if one of them would have given us a straight answer, they're both dead now.” She didn't say such a thing to chastise him; it was just a fact. “And I'm glad... about that,” Elizabeth confessed. “Thank you.”  
  
“For?”  
  
She shrugged. Though he couldn't see her movement, she knew that he felt it. As she replied, she allowed her fingers to play along the smooth, toned expanse of his warm, bare chest. “For taking care of me, for taking care of our children. Even if they don't know it, they're safer now because of the things you and Johnny did tonight.”  
  
“It wasn't that simple,” he admitted on a sigh. “I wish that I could say that Johnny and I took care of Sonny and Anthony just to make sure that you and the boys would always be alright, but I can't. It's... more complicated than that.”  
  
“Oh, Jason, I know that,” she reassured him. “It always is. There's Nadine and her children to consider, too, and, somehow, I know that Nikolas' arrest was somehow connected to everything. There are the businesses and all the men who worked for Sonny and Anthony to think about as well, but, everything else aside, there's us – you, and me, and our children... wherever they are, and I can't tell you how relieved I am to know that they're gone. All of them.”  
  
“Even Nikolas,” he questioned. “I know, years ago, that the two of you were close.”  
  
“Whatever friendship existed between Nikolas and I, that's been over with now for a long, long time. I didn't recognize the man he became. Actually,” Elizabeth confessed with a slight giggle. “I find it kind of amusing that he ended up in prison when you – the man he accused for years of being a criminal – are free, and clear, and here with me now.” To emphasize the point, she found herself dropping a soft kiss against the skin stretched over his softly beating heart.  
  
“That doesn't mean that I'm not a criminal as well, that I don't deserve to be in prison just as much if not even more so than Nikolas does.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you're not,” she refuted, slightly petulantly, “and you're never going to be, so let's just forget you ever said such a thing.”  
  
“But...,” he protested, only for her to interrupted him.  
  
“No buts, Jason. I think they're as pointless as you think ifs are.” He relented, and, for several still, comfortable moments, they both remained in silence. Finally, she broke the stillness with a halting admission, biting her lip as she talked, “I saw Sonny today. I was leaving my appointment, and he was on his way to meet Alexis who was in labor. I thought about everything he had taken from us and all of what he was about to gain that afternoon, and, for a brief second, I wanted to kill him myself.”  
  
“You didn't, though, Elizabeth.”  
  
“I thought about it,” she confessed, sitting up to lean over him. “I thought about how it would feel to take everything he loved away from him just like he did to me. I thought about going out, buying a gun, and shooting him before he could even meet his little girl, about finding some lethal drug and poisoning him with it, about following him up on the roof and then pushing him off.”  
  
“And then that's how he actually died,” Jason whispered, tucking a piece of her hair that had spilled its way forward behind her ear. “Are you okay... with that?”  
  
“You know, it's almost like, even though I didn't actually push him, I still feel like I did, and I... I don't hate the feeling.”  
  
“After everything that he's done to you, I think feeling that way is only natural,” he commented thoughtfully, pulling her back down to lay against him. At that point, she was completely on top of him from the tips of her toes which were rubbing absently against his naked calves to her elbows which were braced against his shoulders.  
  
“What he did to us,” she corrected. Without thinking, Elizabeth lowered her head and kissed the father of her children – just once. “Goodnight, Jason,” she whispered, sliding over so that she was reclined beside him, tucked in carefully against him.  
  
Turning so that he was also on his side, Jason enfolded her within his own body, cocooning her. “Goodnight.”


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

Yet again, Patrick Drake made her yearn for Paris. In Paris, she would have known exactly how far she could push her apartment door open without it creaking in protest. She knew which spots of the floor to avoid, that her bathroom was far enough from her cousin's room that Maxie wouldn't wake when Robin was preparing for bed, and that the glass cupboard squeaked, so, if she wanted a drink before going to sleep, she had to guzzle straight from the tap or hope there was some bottled water in the fridge. In Paris, she also never would have been sneaking in after spending illicit time with a guy, hoping that Maxie wouldn't catch her.  
  
Luckily, though, despite its age, the Port Charles Hotel was well cared for and maintained. By the time the suite's door clicked quietly shut behind her, Robin took a deep breath. The sitting room was dark, and there were no lights streaming from underneath the closed doors that branched off the main room. Everything was still. Satisfied that her family had long since gone to bed, she turned towards her own room, still tiptoeing just as precaution, only to stop in mid-step when the last voice she wanted to hear called out, “and where the hell have you been?”  
  
As a lamp was switched on, she went for dismissive, for tired and impatient. “You know that I had to work tonight. You also know that you work for me, not the other way around, so, if my shift runs late, you just have to adapt, Maxie. I'm sorry that I didn't call, but the hospital was crazy tonight.”  
  
“Yeah, well, a mobster's swan dive off the roof would tend to create a little chaos.”  
  
“You know about that?” Robin didn't realize that her arms were crossed over her chest in the classic defensive posture until after the question was loose from the confines of her mouth. Immediately repositioning herself, she went for a more casual pose and moved to lean against a chair. “I mean, you're not exactly known for being concerned about the things going on in the world around you.”  
  
“Hey, I watch the news,” her cousin protested, glaring.  
  
“Maxie....”  
  
“Fine, I watch E!News, but, still, if something's important enough, they eventually get around to covering it, and, tonight, there I was, sitting there just minding my own business and rating all the ensembles I saw, when a little blurb about Sonny Corinthos taking a header off of GH's roof flashes along the tick at the bottom of the screen. It was amazing,” the younger woman informed her, impassioned. “I mean, for the first time in its entire existence, Little Port Charles was relevant. We made the national news.”  
  
“You do realize that a man had to die in order for you to feel important, right?”  
  
“He wasn't just a man; he was a monster... or so Mac has always said,” Maxie countered. Before Robin could protest, her cousin held up a hand and continued, “and I know that, once upon a time, the two of you were close... or whatever, but we've been back in town for a month so far, and you haven't once gone to see him. Miss Manners I am not, but, still, even I would have already made it over to see the guy if he still meant something to me. The fact that you haven't yet tells me everything I need to know.”  
  
“It does?”  
  
“Of course,” her daughter's nanny answered immediately. “It tells me that, though you probably cried, it was partly from guilt... which you hadn't managed to realize until this very second when I pointed it out to you. It also tells me that there's another reason as to why you're getting back so late. Yes, Sonny's date with a concrete fate would have made the hospital a zoo but only on the outside. In fact, I'd wager that patient numbers were actually down tonight. After all, if you had an emergency, where would you rather go: Mercy where everything was cool and collected or GH where every cop and his mother were gathered to slap each other on the back for a job well done in _not_ protecting Sonny Corinthos from being murdered? So, the question remains: where the hell were you?”  
  
“And I told you,” Robin reiterated, “I was at the hospital. Patients or not, there are always plenty of things to do.”  
  
“Things?” Realizing her error but knowing it was too late to fix it, Robin waited for her cousin to sink her teeth into her next attack. “The woman who can usually give me a step-by-step, minute-by-nauseatingly-boring-minute account of her work day had _things_ to do? Uh, vague much? Add to that the fact that you were sneaking in here like some naughty teenager and....” Maxie jumped to her feet. “Oh my god!”  
  
Standing up straight and backing away with her hands raised defensively in the air, she impulsively argued, “no, not oh my god. There's nothing to oh my god. And there certainly wasn't any sneaking. I was just... making sure that I didn't wake you or Cate. I was trying to be respectful. You should try it sometime – common courtesy, recognizing personal boundaries, backing off when someone....”  
  
Interrupting her, her cousin shouted, “you were doing the walk of shame!”  
  
“Was I walking? Yes. Was it shameful? Of course not, because I had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
“No, of course you didn't,” Maxie agreed with her, shocking Robin, not only with her words but also with her calm, rational, and accepting tone. The pleasant astonishment didn't last, though. “You had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, because it's about damn time that you got yourself some.”  
  
“Excuse me? I did not....” Sputtering, she stated, “this conversation is inappropriate and completely unfounded. I'm tired, I'm grieving, and I'm going to bed. If you insist upon staying up and spinning conspiracies, be my guest, but I, for one, have a busy day tomorrow, and I need to be well rested.”  
  
“Yeah, so Patrick can boink your brains out again.”  
  
Throwing up her arms in frustration, she exclaimed, “there was no boinking... as you put it.”  
  
“Oh, please! You reek of dirty, raunchy, clandestine hospital sex,” Maxie accused. “Your clothes are mussed, you're sporting the 'I-just-got-extremely-lucky' hair, and, now that I look closer, I do believe you have a hickey on your neck.” On impulse, Robin slapped her hand up to cover the tell-tale mark. Already blushing, she listened as her daughter's nanny continued, “you really don't have a hickey, but, if I had any doubts, I don't now. I just have one question for you: where did it happen? The supply closet? Your office? His? The chapel? The morgue?”  
  
“The morgue, Maxie, really,” she questioned, sickened by the very idea. With a wrinkled brow and a turned up nose, she said, “that's just disgusting!”  
  
“I don't know. I think it's kind of hot. You're surrounded by all those dead people, and you're doing the one thing in the world that makes you feel the most alive.” Her cousin shrugged. “It's on my list.”  
  
“I know I shouldn't ask this, but what list?”  
  
“You know, the list of places that I want to eventually have sex before I either die myself or am too old to enjoy the novelty of the odd setting.”  
  
“You're a freak,” she accused the younger woman.  
  
“And you got your freak on.” Tapping her chin thoughtfully, Maxie queried, “and just where, again I ask, did this monkey business occur?”  
  
“If you must know, it was in an empty hospital room.”  
  
Without pausing a beat to absorb the revealed information, her cousin demanded to know, “who was on top?”  
  
Robin smirked impishly. “Which time?”  
  
“Slut!” She almost cringed at the note of pride she could hear ringing clearly through the blonde's voice. “Tell me more; tell me everything!”  
  
“Maybe you wouldn't be so interested in my sex life if you had one of your own.”  
  
“Well, duh, because mine would be so much better, so much more kinky,” Maxie stated definitively.  
  
“Hop to it, then.”  
  
“Yeah right! There are absolutely no eligible guys in this horrible, hick-town that I could ever be interested in.”  
  
“I'm not telling you to go out and reel yourself in a husband,” Robin countered. “All I'm saying is that, before you become obsessed with my sex life, find one of your own.”  
  
“You know, it is really unfair that you're getting some right now and I'm not.”  
  
“Hey, I'm pretty sure that, if you really wanted to rectify the situation, your friend Spinelli would help you out.”  
  
Almost instantaneously, Maxie started to make gagging sounds. “You're kidding me, right? That has to be the most insensitive, appalling thing that you've ever said to me. All I've done since we moved here was try to help you land Patrick Drake... which let the record show you've now succeeded in doing – congratulations by the way, but, in return, you insult me _and_ my sex appeal. That's just cold.”  
  
Her smirk turned into a full-fledged grin. “You're so embarrassed right now that your ears are pink – bright, neon, flamingo pink. What's wrong, Maxie? Did I hit a nerve?”  
  
“You couldn't hit the broad side of a Barney's!”  
  
“Uh, the expression is a broad side of a barn,” she corrected her cousin.  
  
“Perhaps it is in your world but, in mine, barns don't exist.”  
  
“Not even so they can be on your list of places to have sex with Spinelli before you die or become too old to enjoy the novelty of the odd setting?”  
  
Storming out of the room, Maxie seethed, “I'm going to bed! This conversation is juvenile, disgusting, and you should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking such impure thoughts. If I were you, Robin, I'd wash that nasty mouth of yours out before I kiss Patrick again. You don't want the words Spinelli and sex being used in the same sentence to completely erode away all your desirability, and they would. Trust me! It's like a cancer that eats away at you, one attractive quality at a time. First, it's your teeth as the stomach acids such vile thoughts incite into rioting corrodes the enamel off your pearly whites. And then it's your....”  
  
“Good night, Maxie,” she interrupted, laughing.  
  
Oh, yeah. Robin had definitely hit a nerve. Smiling smugly to herself – after all, it wasn't everyday she had sex _and_ managed to win a battle with her cousin, she went to bed. 

} ~ {

At first, when she approached the old, dilapidated studio, she feared that Jason wasn't alone. Hearing him talk, panic set in, and she immediately believed that, yet again, her mother had failed to come through for her. How hard was it to get an accurate bead on someone else's plans for the day. All she had asked of Bobbie was to find out when the muffin was working and when she planned on going home in order to make sure that, when she went to see her best friend, his little pipsqueak of a shadow wasn't there as well. Her fears were soon allayed, though, when she realized Jason wasn't talking to Elizabeth; he was merely on the phone.  
  
“Diane, I really don't care if the market's good right now. I want it sold. And fast.”  
  
Carly knew that Jason was flush. His sudden rush to sell something wasn't a desperate attempt to make his finances solvent once more; rather, it was probably a sign that he was putting all his ducks in a row and preparing to take off again. She was damn lucky that she had decided to go to him that afternoon. If she had waited much longer, he might not have been around to help her.  
  
“I don't care if I take a loss. I don't care if the building is demolished and a strip mall is put up on the lot. I don't care about anything but unloading it.”  
  
Seeing as how desperate times called for desperate measures, she reached for the door handle, simply intending upon entering the disgusting sham of an apartment only to find that the entrance was locked. Since when did Jason Morgan fear anything that could be kept away by a measly deadbolt? Since when did he act like every other coward in town? Plus, who the hell was there to hide from at that point? Sonny was gone, Anthony Zacchara was gone, even Nikolas was about to be sent up the river. The scariest person left in Port Charles was Jason himself, so, unless he was trying to protect the rest of the world from his own impulses... which was highly unlikely, that meant he was allowing the porcelain doll to control him once more.  
  
Realization made, her determination strengthened, Carly lifted up a hand and pounded on the steel door with the heel of her palm. When he didn't answer, she yelled out, “I know you're in there, Jason! I heard you talking earlier.”  
  
The door whipped open so quickly, she nearly fell forward, unaware of the fact that she had been using the structure as a physical support. “What the hell do you want? I'm busy right now.”  
  
“Too busy for your best friend,” she asked sweetly, attempting and then failing to slide past his hulking form. When he wouldn't budge, she propped her fists on her hips and stated, “I need to talk to you. It's important.”  
  
“It always is with you, Carly.”  
  
He sounded bored and frustrated, and she knew it was time to pull out the big guns. Immediately, large, fake tears started to swim around in her wide, brown eyes. “It's about Sonny.”  
  
Pinching his nose, Jason told her, “because Alexis just had a baby, Diane Miller is going to be handling Sonny's will. It'll be read sometime this week. If you're a beneficiary, I'm sure her assistant will contact you. Now, if that's all you needed...?”  
  
He was already pushing the door closed, not even giving her a chance to respond. Reaching for the first thing she could think of that would prevent him from turning her away, Carly blurted out, “I'm pregnant.” It wasn't how she had wanted to share the news with him, but it certainly received a reaction.  
  
Exhaling harshly, he spoke into his phone. “I'll have to call you back, Diane.” As soon as the cell was flipped shut and tossed aside onto a metal counter, Jason folded his arms over his chest and observed her blandly.  
  
“Aren't you going to at least invite me in? I mean, the place is horrible, but at least I'd be able to sit down, put my feet up. You know, it's extremely important for women to take it easy when they're pregnant, especially during the first trimester.”  
  
“Actually, no, I wouldn't know that, would I, considering the fact that I've never been allowed to be a father.”  
  
Uh oh. Backing away mentally, Carly decided to drop her petition for entrance. Although she knew there was no possible way that her best friend was aware of her involvement in the whole baby conspiracy, his statement held more than its fair share of accusation, and the last thing she needed in that moment was a betrayed Jason. Rather, she needed him to be caring and concerned. Hell, at that point, she'd even take his pity if it got her what she wanted from him.  
  
“A little over a month ago, Sonny and I kind of... slept together,” she revealed, returning to her previous confession.  
  
“I doubt his bed was the only one you were warming at the time.”  
  
Twisting her hands together, Carly attempted to play the docile, regretful, wronged woman. “No, I was also involved with Nikolas, too, but you see how well both of those relationships turned out. One guy's in jail for a long, long time, and the other....” Again, she employed her ready-made tears. “Well, you know what happened to Sonny.”  
  
“So, now, of course, you come to me, because, yet again, you don't know who the father of your unborn baby is.”  
  
“No, it's not like that,” she was quick to reassure him. “Jason, I know that the baby's Sonny's. Nikolas was always really careful about making sure that we used protection.”  
  
Wryly, he said, “probably because he didn't want you tainting the royal Cassadine bloodlines.”  
  
She had been trying to be docile, she had trying to act contrite, but, with his blunt insult, Carly flew into a rage, lashing out and shoving her would-be rescuer away. “Shut your goddamned mouth! I'm not some piece of trash, some guttersnipe that you can talk to like that. I'm the mother of your son! Michael? Remember him? The little boy you've practically abandoned? Don't forget, Jason, that, once upon a time, you couldn't get enough of me. You didn't think that I wasn't good enough then.”  
  
“I also didn't know any better,” he calmly replied. “And Michael's not my son. He's A.J.'s biological child; he's Sonny's adopted child.”  
  
“But you raised him for the first year of his life, Jason!”  
  
“Exactly. I raised him... for you... because, at the time, there was no one else to take care of him. Did I love Michael? You know that I did, but that was a long time ago, Carly. He doesn't remember me, and I've let go. Look, I'm sorry that you've managed to get yourself into trouble. Again. But it's not my problem; it's yours. I'm not going to help you this time, so save us both the hassle and, please, just leave.”  
  
“If you do this,” she threatened, pointing a long, red painted nail in his face. “If you abandon me and this child, if you refuse to help us, then you can kiss Michael goodbye. I'll make sure that you never _ever_ see my son again.”  
  
“I think that would be best for everyone, Carly.”  
  
Before she could respond, the studio's door was slammed in her face, and, as she walked away in defeat, she could hear Jason already talking on his cell phone once again, insisting that Diane Miller sell Harbor View Towers as soon as possible. It was just another thing in a long line that she had lost during the past twenty-four hours: first Sonny, then Nikolas, then Jason, and, now, finally the one place in the world that she had ever really thought of as a home. But so what? She was Carly Quartermaine Corinthos. Even without Jason Morgan's help, she'd make it. After all, she wasn't out of options yet. She still had one more trick to play, and, for her final act, Carly knew it would be a number that no one would be expecting, especially her target.

} ~ {

Johnny was sincerely hoping that Jason would come along with Elizabeth when she met her friends in the park. Despite Spencer's presence, he felt completely overwhelmed by the femininity surrounding him and was hoping that an extra male, especially one as alpha as Jason Morgan, would lesson the amount of girl-talk he was being inundated with. Although Elizabeth was running late, Nadine and Robin had wasted no time diving into conversation. They had already dished about the respective men in their lives despite the fact that he was sitting right there beside his girlfriend, and, now, they were moving on to mommy issues. Admittedly, he was in love with Nadine... not that he was prepared to tell her such a thing or that she was ready to listen to his emotional confession, and he knew that, with her, came parenting responsibilities. He didn't mind that. But he also knew that he'd rather spend his afternoon discussing transmissions and the upcoming NFL season rather than tea parties and school shopping.  
  
Still, though, male conversation relief or not, it was a good day. The past few weeks of almost constant humidity and thunderstorms had finally moved on, and the temperamental weather had been replaced by picturesque, post-card worthy sunshine. The air was a balmy 82 degrees, there wasn't a cloud in sight, and the park was alive with the laughter of children and productive bustle of wildlife scurrying around underneath the bushes and behind the confines of the century old trees.  
  
Laura had been thrilled with the idea of meeting her new friend Cate at the playground, and even Spencer had been excited to do something normal and carefree for once, unhindered by the constraints placed upon him simply because his father was a prince, and Johnny knew it was vital that they took advantage of the little boy's cooperation when it came to hanging out with so many girls for as long as they possibly could, because, once that cooperation ended, there'd be even more children to keep track of, to watch over, to buy ice cream cones for.  
  
It was amazing how much his life had changed in such a small amount of time. He had waited his whole life to experience such a normal, rather boring day, and here it was, gift-wrapped and presented to him by the woman his left arm was wrapped so possessively around. And the best part was that Nadine didn't realize what a priceless gift she had given him. She was just living her life, and, because he was now a part of that life, he was automatically included.  
  
“It's odd, don't you think?”  
  
“More like freaky,” Nadine remarked. Elbowing him gently in the ribs, she asked, “what do you think?”  
  
“About what,” Johnny asked. Before she could accuse him of not paying attention, he admitted, “my mind was drifting there for a few minutes.”  
  
She smiled serenely. He should have known that she wouldn't become perturbed over his lapse in concentration. “The girls,” she prompted him. “Robin and I just noticed how much they look alike.”  
  
“Well, they're both blonde haired and blue eyed, but so are a lot of kids.”  
  
“It's not so much that,” Robin told him, “though physically, I swear, they could practically be twins. It's even in their mannerisms. They both talk with their hands, their eyes crinkle when they smile or laugh, and their attention to detail and strength of focus, especially for being only four years old, is absolutely astounding.”  
  
Johnny nodded, seeing her point, but he also persisted in playing devil's advocate. “Yeah, but they also have been spending a lot of time together. Maybe they're just picking up on each other's habits and mimicking them, or being around each other so much is increasing those particular traits in both girls.”  
  
“It's amazing, isn't it,” Nadine sighed, “how... interesting children are. That's one of the reasons why I work in pediatrics. I mean, take Cate and Laura for example – two little girls who were both adopted into completely different families, one in Paris with a single mother and her cousin as a nanny and the other by a prince and his regular Jane of a second-wife in small-town USA, and nearly five years later they meet up and are the perfect compliment to each other. I'd swear, if I didn't know any better, I'd think that they were separated at birth.”  
  
As the words left his girlfriend's mouth, Johnny felt as though he had been sucker punched. He didn't have much time to react, though, because, as he glanced up, he noticed Elizabeth lurking around a bend in the park's path, hiding so that she could listen to her friends' conversation without them realizing that she was there. His gaze met hers as they both listened to what Robin and Nadine continued to unsuspectingly discuss.  
  
“When's Laura's birthday,” Robin questioned. “Cate will be turning five in September. I've debated over whether or not I should send her to kindergarten yet, but she's already tested well above her age-level, and I'm afraid, if I don't send her now, she'll just be bored this entire upcoming school year repeating preschool again.”  
  
“Laura, too,” Nadine replied both surprised and pleased. “I'm sending her to kindergarten early, too, despite the fact that she won't turn five until after school has started. Her birthday's September second.”  
  
“That's Cate's birthday!”  
  
His girlfriend laughed. “I told you they were freakishly....”  
  
Before she could finish her teasing remark, Elizabeth gasped. Both women looked up in her direction, and, realizing she had been made, Elizabeth took off. Robin and Nadine both stood up to chase after her, but Johnny stopped them from leaving. “I'll go,” he offered, already moving in Elizabeth's fleeing direction. “You two stay here with the kids.”  
  
“But...,” Nadine started to protest.  
  
He attempted a smile then, hoped that it was convincing, but feared that it came across more as a grimace. “If anything happens to her while I just sit here, Jason'll have my hide. I'll call you and let you know when I find her, when I know that she's safe and alright.”  
  
Johnny didn't wait for a response, an agreement; he just turned around and ran off in the direction in which Elizabeth had fled. 


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

He had been getting his bike serviced when Elizabeth called. At her frantic request, he had left the Harley Davidson dealership immediately. In fact, because his own bike had not been available, Jason was pretty sure he had either distractedly agreed to buy a new motorcycle, or, if that wasn't the case, he had probably committed grand theft. Either way, he didn't care. Once he was assured that Elizabeth was alright, once he saw her for himself and made sure that he fixed whatever it was that had gone wrong, then he'd deal with his potential purchase or crime... whatever the case may be. Until then, though, he didn't care who objected to his behavior. For five years, the woman he loved, the mother of his children had been fighting her battles on her own. Whether Elizabeth realized it or not, from the moment he first saw her again, Jason had promised himself she'd never have to be alone again.  
  
Driving the bike as close to the docks as he possibly could, he then parked it and took off on foot, running. Just as she had promised, Elizabeth was waiting for him on the bench they had shared so many times in their past. Without blinking, without removing his gaze from her, he knew that his approach was sloppy. He wasn't looking for the risks and dangers he had been trained to spot and then eliminate. Even though such diligence was no longer necessary, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to act that role anyway even if it was, for it was obvious just by looking at Elizabeth that her whole entire world was falling apart, and he needed to pick her up and put the pieces back together for her. He had failed her once. He wouldn't do so again.  
  
Without comment, he slid onto the bench beside her, reached out, and took her into his arms. She went willingly, burying her pale, washed out from tears face in the crevice between his neck and shoulder that seemed made for her. After several moments, Jason moved to loosen his grip, hoping to reposition the both of them so that talking would be easier, but, as soon as his muscles tensed for action, Elizabeth tightened her hold on him, her trembling fingers digging into his hard, rigid back. Between sobs, she managed to whimper, “everything... it was all a lie.”  
  
“What?” The admission was too vague for him to comprehend, too open for interpretation, and he had never been good at reading between the lines. “I don't understand. What was a...?”  
  
“Everything,” Elizabeth wailed. Letting go of him, she sat up, using her shaking hands to wipe away the evidence of her emotion. Though she was still visibly upset, she calmed enough to talk. “The boys, the adoptions, the birth certificates – lies, all of it.”  
  
“But that can't be true,” he argued in confusion. “I mean, you were pregnant... right?”  
  
“No, I was, and I did have twins, but everything else – all those clues we've been so conveniently given, it's no wonder Diane's assistant hasn't been able to find anything about our boys, Jason, because I didn't have boys.” Somehow managing to smile painfully through her sorrow, she revealed, “I... we had two beautiful, healthy, amazing little girls.”  
  
“But the birth certificates,” he insisted.  
  
“Jason, I saw them, and I know it doesn't make any sense, but I just _felt_ them. They're ours. The birth certificates must have been planted, fakes that Anthony made in case we ever got wind of what he and Sonny did and started to look into the past.”  
  
“Or he was planning on using the adoptions against me all along, no matter if I trained his son or not. He would have just waited until he was satisfied with Johnny's abilities before he started dropping his hints if everything would have gone according to his plan.” Slowly, everything started to fall into place within his mind, all the loose ends, all the disconnecting information no longer clouded his judgement. “Either way, it was a win-win situation for the old man. He had something he could hold over Sonny's head if Anthony felt he stepped out of line; he knew that, if he wanted to, he could drive an unrepairable wedge between Sonny and I; and, even if someone else stumbled upon one of the clues – someone like Claudia, he had enough false information planted that it would send the person looking into the mess on a wild goose chase. It was perfect.”  
  
She nodded, agreeing with him. “We never would have figured out the truth if it didn't find us all on its own.”  
  
“Tell me more about that,” he requested eagerly, desperately. “How...? What...? Who...?”  
  
Instead of answering, though, Elizabeth asked one of her own questions. “Do you think that Anthony would have purposely picked parents who were connected to us in order to make the situation just that much more impossible?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Robin's daughter,” she informed him, “is adopted. She was born on September second, nearly five years ago. She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and she's unbelievably intelligent and artistic. She talks with her hands, her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and she has this intense ability to focus and concentrate.” Realizing what she was telling him, recognizing the traits for what they were, Jason sucked in a necessary breath and then held it as the mother of his children continued. “Nadine and Nikolas' daughter? Also adopted. She, too, was born on September second, nearly five years ago. She also has blonde hair and blue eyes. Plus, she's smart and creative as well. Just like her best friend, Cate, Laura – that's her name – talks with her hands, her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and she also has this amazing ability to focus and concentrate. Sound familiar?”  
  
“They're ours... our daughters.”  
  
“And they're being raised by people we know, people we care about, people, in Robin's case, that you once loved.” This time, the tears that leaked from her expressive blue eyes, the shade of which he hoped his little girls shared with their mother, trickled silently down her clammy, cold cheeks. “He did it on purpose, didn't he? He made sure that our children went to good people, people that we'd never object to, people that we might have, in fact, eventually named as their guardians if anything were to ever happen to the both of us. And all this time that we've been searching, they've been right there – happy, laughing, smiling, loved, and we had no idea.”  
  
For several silent minutes, Jason thought. Eventually, he replied, “Anthony Zacchara was a bastard, but he was also smart. He didn't do anything without completely thinking it through, no matter what impression he gave to the world. I have no doubt that he picked Robin and Nadine on purpose, not only to further confuse us if we were to actually someday succeed in finding our daughters but also what better place to hide them than in plain sight? Unless given proper reason to, we'd never suspect our friends of raising our children. That's just... given normal circumstances, that's not a leap most people would take.”  
  
“But we did; we have.”  
  
“And so now what,” a third voice asked softly from above, joining them.  
  
Glancing upwards, Jason spied a devastated Johnny. Though, as always, the other man was impeccably dressed, his expression was that of a man who, in a matter of minutes, had managed to lose everything that mattered to him. In that moment, he realized just how precarious of a situation his friend was in. While the circumstances were completely different, Johnny, too, had some very important decisions to make, decisions that, like himself and Elizabeth, had the potential to either destroy their own lives or wreck everyone else's that they cared about. Maybe Sonny and Anthony were both dead, but their penchant for hurting others stilled lived on. Jason found himself wondering just how long it would take to undo all the damage the former mob bosses had, before their deaths, set into motion.  
  
“You figured it out, too,” he finally said in response. Though it could have been taken as a question, all three of them recognized it as the statement it was.  
  
Walking slowly down the steps, Johnny came to stand before them. With a nod from Elizabeth, he took a seat upon one of the wooden pilings ringing the dock. “I've spent so many days during the past few weeks with Nadine and her daughter. We went for walks, out to dinner, just spent time together at their apartment. I knew that she was adopted, I knew how old she was, and I knew what she looked like, but, until I saw her with her sister today, until I listened to Robin and Nadine list off all the girls' similarities, I never once thought....” His words trailed off, and he took a deep breath, blinking several times in rapid succession before looking away from them towards the horizon, giving himself a moment to regain his composure. Finally, he asked, “what are you going to do?”  
  
“I love my children,” Elizabeth responded. “Even when I was eighteen, alone, and suddenly pregnant, I never once regretted anything. I might have believed that I only gave birth to one child – a little boy, but I have loved the thought of that baby since the day he was born. When I found out I had twins, I immediately loved both of the children I had been told were my sons, and now? I've seen my daughters. I love them more than anything else in the world. They are my little girls, and I am their mother. Jason is their father. But Cate's also Robin's little girl, and Robin loves her more than anything else in the world. Laura's also Nadine's little girl, and she, too, adores her daughter. The only difference? My babies don't love me. How can I as a mother consciously take my children from everything that they love, everything that's familiar, everything that makes them happy and who they are?”  
  
Though her words caused a small part of him to wither away and die, Jason knew that what Elizabeth said was true. As parents, whether anyone else in the world knew them to be such things or not, it was their responsibility, their duty, and their honor to do everything within their power to make sure that their children were safe, and healthy, and happy. If they claimed them, came forward with a paternity suit, and demanded that they be returned, the only people their actions would be benefiting would be themselves. He had no doubt that they would be able to love their girls just as much as both Robin and Nadine did, but custody of Cate and Laura was not a competition; it was a gift, a gift that had been cruelly and wrongly taken away from them and given to others, but, at the same time, it was also a gift that they could not now, five years later, find and take back for themselves.  
  
“The girls will stay where they are. We won't take them away from the only families they know, the only lives they know,” Jason stated, knowing full well that Elizabeth agreed with him. “And we'll leave town, too – go someplace far away. We were going to leave anyway, but this just makes it necessary. I... we can't be here, so close to them, if we can't actually be with them. It'd be too hard, and we'd probably end up doing or saying something that would confuse the girls, and that wouldn't be fair to anyone.”  
  
“Were you even going to say goodbye before taking off?”  
  
Exchanging a glance with the woman beside him, Jason shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. Maybe not. Eventually, though, I would have sent word to you... once we settled down somewhere. We're not big on goodbyes.”  
  
Picking up his line of thought, Elizabeth added, “we're more the 'see you later' kind of people.”  
  
Sardonically, Johnny asked, “well, is there time yet to get a sidecar for your bike, because I'm probably going to need to leave town as well?”  
  
Jason regarded him carefully. “What do you mean?” Lowering his voice, he questioned, “I thought we made sure that your hands remained absolutely clean, that you weren't physically involved with anything that happened a couple of nights ago?”  
  
“No, it's not that,” the younger man was quick to reassure him. “It's just....” Shrugging, he confessed, “I'm in love with Nadine. There, I said it. I've known for a while, but I wouldn't even admit it out loud to myself. It seemed too soon, and I'm not good for her.”  
  
“Don't do that,” Elizabeth snapped, glaring at Johnny. “Don't make unilateral decisions that affect the both of you equally. It was your decision to fall in love with Nadine. Now, you have to leave it up to her to decide whether or not she loves you as well. You can't make up her mind for her by running away or shutting her out. Right or wrong for her, good or bad, she has to make that judgment; you can't.”  
  
“Yeah, well, how the hell am I supposed to look her in the eye, make love to her, and help her raise her children with this secret hanging between us? Tricked or not, I stole the child that she eventually adopted, and, now, I know the truth about her daughter's paternity, about her daughter's twin sister. The girls might not be identical, but they might as well be now that I see just how alike they really are. With something that big between us, it won't matter how much I love Nadine, the relationship will fail. I can't do that to her, and I refuse to do it to myself, but I also can't stay here, see her, and eventually be forced to watch her date other men. I won't. So, if you get to run away and leave all this behind you, then so do I.”  
  
Surprising him, Jason said, “tell her the truth.”  
  
Eyes wide, mouth gaping open, Johnny queried, “what did you just say? I could have sworn that you just told me to tell Nadine that you and Elizabeth are her daughter's biological parents and that it's because of me that it took you five years to even figure out that you're parents to twin girls? Are you out of your fucking mind?”  
  
“We're leaving town. We're not going to contest the adoption or sue her and Robin for custody of the girls. She already knows that her daughter is adopted, and, this way, she can get a full medical history on Laura. As for your role in this whole mess, you were just as much of a pawn as Elizabeth and I were,” Jason assured him. “Nadine will see that. Tell her the truth, and she'll realize that you're not to blame for what happened. If we can see that, she will, too. It was your father, Johnny, your father and Sonny; not you. Give Nadine a chance to see that as well. Give yourself the chance to allow her to see the truth.”  
  
“We just ask one thing,” Elizabeth picked up where he left off. Before Johnny could respond, she continued. “Love our daughter. Love her like your own. Protect her for us since we can't be here to protect her ourselves. And maybe, if Nadine is willing, send us pictures of the girls, updates. We won't interfere with their lives, but we'll need to know that they're alright, that we made the right decision.”  
  
Obviously stunned by both their insistence that he confess all to Nadine and their request, Johnny simply stared in their direction for several moments. Eventually, he shook himself slightly, an attempt to knock his senses back into place at least temporarily. “I will,” he promised. “You have my word.” Solemnly, he added, “thank you.”  
  
Silently, Jason stood, depositing Elizabeth on her feet beside him. Taking her hand in his, they walked away towards where he had parked the bike earlier. “We'll see you later... at the will readings,” he said in response to his friend's words.  
  
In a way, it felt as though they had already left.

} ~ {

He should have brought popcorn.  
  
In all his years working for The Brusque Lady of Justice, absolutely nothing before had prepared Spinelli for such a snack worthy meeting. To think that his intrepid employer was handling the Zacchara and the Corinthos estates, both quite extensive and complicated, in a single evening with all the tawdry players gathered in the same room at one time, and he didn't bring snacks? Why, such a spectacle – and a spectacle it surely was – was far more entertaining than the latest Harry Potter movie or even a swashbuckling Pirates of the Caribbean film. The Jackal, in his lack of foresight, had erred grievously and was now paying the price. He'd never forgive himself for not doing everything within his power to enjoy such a momentous, legendary evening. Such events only occurred once in a nerd's lifetime, and he had blown his like a gigantic star exploding into a black hole... only, in his case, his stomach and not space was the vast expanse of nothing. It wasn't a good feeling.  
  
Through glares from Master John and the Stone Cold Jason Morgan and a pointed, verbal warning from the most esteemed legal eagle of Port Charles, the masses gathered had somehow managed to remain silent during the will readings, but, now that everything had been announced and divided and Diane was preparing to summarize the evening, he was mentally preparing for the inevitable blowup one would expect from such an eclectic audience. Master John's sister – The Sultry Succubus – was there, barely restraining her temper. Both The Pint Sized, Dimpled Don's former wives were in attendance, The Devious Miss Davis accompanied by a gentleman friend with the most enviable Australian accent, and both heirs had their own respectively lovely ladies there in support – his own sister Nadine and the oh-so-elegant Elizabeth Webber. The only people missing in his estimation were the quacky Quartermaines. Though Edward Q had sought entrance, citing the fact that a large portion of his company would be divvied out that memorable night, his petition had been dismissed as had his own garrulous presence.  
  
“To conclude, despite the large and complicated natures of both the deceased's estates, this is really a very straightforward matter. Once the investigations are closed and probate completed, John Zacchara inherits his father's entire fortune – which includes all properties, holdings, and investments, as does Jason Morgan where Sonny Corinthos' estate is concerned. Claudia, your father left you the contents of his wardrobe. He said, and I quote here, 'you always wanted to fill my shoes someday. Now, here's your chance.' As to what you decide to do with the items, that is up to your discretion.  
  
“As for Mr. Corinthos' personal attachments,” Diane sighed dramatically, eyeing both women pointedly, though her gaze for Alexis was much warmer. “He left trusts for both of his living children, though Jackeline's is by far the much larger of the two, and both Mrs. Quartermaine-Corinthos and Mrs. Corinthos or, as she prefers, Miss Davis, have been provided with residences in this building for as long as it is in the possession of one Jason Morgan. However, considering the fact that the sale of Harbor View Towers is expected to go through by the end of the week, you have two weeks to either vacate the premises or arrange for a new lease with the incoming owner. Now, since everyone is here, there is one further business matter that I have been hired to oversee, and it has been decided that....”  
  
“That's it,” The Slut-o-Rama – everyone come and take a ride – Quartermaine-Corinthos interrupted rudely, standing up from her seated position on the couch. Because it was such a large gathering, it had been decided that they would meet in Mr. Corinthos' recently renovated penthouse. “That's all Sonny left me – some paltry trust fund for Michael that I can't even touch? How the hell am I supposed to support myself? How the hell am I supposed to take care of my son, not to mention the fact that he died before he could make provisions for the kid currently living inside of me?”  
  
“Oh, I'm sorry,” The Jackal's employer cooed sympathetically. “Did Sonny manage to knock you up again before he died?” Before the other woman could respond, Diane continued, her tone eroding into one of sarcasm and disgust. Spinelli just adored his boss when she was at her feistiest... as long as the claws weren't directed his way. “Well, why don't I just hop into my trusty time machine, go back, and make him change his will for you? Or, better yet, I'd find a way to staple your legs closed for once. That should solve things nicely for everyone concerned. You wouldn't have another bastard bun in the oven, Alexis wouldn't have to worry about her daughter's unsavory half sibling, and none of us here would have to listen to you whine and moan that your dead ex-husband didn't leave you enough money, forcing you to actually have to go out and get a job to support yourself like the rest of the world. Too bad my time machine broke last week, though. Life's a bitch, isn't it, Carly?  
  
“Moving on,” Diane announced, once more smiling broadly. “Per Mr. Morgan's instructions, I've drawn up a sale of all assets agreement between him and my other client, John Zacchara. In it, Mr. Morgan, for the bargain price of one dollar, relinquishes all control of any and all of his personal assets within the state of New York and those formerly connected with his one time partner, Sonny Corinthos. Come on up here and sign, Johnny,” she invited the flabbergasted younger man. He obeyed, though in a daze. As she handed him a pen, the awe-inspiring attorney said, “place your John Hancock on the designated lines, and you'll become, by far, the most powerful _legitimate_ businessman on the eastern seaboard. Congratulations.  
  
“Though this does somewhat interfere with my newfound business partnership with Miss Davis, I'm sure there's enough future work here for the both of us. What do you say, partner,” Diane glanced in Alexis' direction. “You'll handle all the permits and the day-to-day hassle of representing such a large and multi-faceted corporation, and I'll be the face of our legal division, the mink lined caped crusader who takes our battles to court and always wins to save the money-making day.”  
  
Bluntly, dryly, The Devious Miss Davis remarked, “you've been spending far too much time with Mr. Grasshopper. I don't know what that kid smokes, but he has obviously clam baked you.”  
  
“Hey,” Spinelli objected passionately, standing up only to trip on the coffee table and barely manage to right himself before falling into the still pissed off Sultry Succubus' lap. Speaking of deep, dark holes.... “I have not puffed on the magic dragon in a long, long time.”  
  
“Excuse me,” Nadine questioned him heatedly, stepping forward.  
  
He ignored his sister's wrath and explained, “it takes a lot of strenuous, hard work to keep this youthful figure of mine the envy of all the men I meet, so Maryjane and I had to share our last dance. Even when The Jackal was still toking it, I never lit up anywhere near The Brusque Lady of Justice... at least not after that first time when she demanded that I share with her. Do you have any idea how expensive designer cannabis can be? There was no way that I was just going to give the stuff away for free!”  
  
“Oh, would you look at the time,” Diane exclaimed. “I have briefs to file, shoes to buy, and assistant to asphyxiate. Time surely does fly when you're having fun, but I'm afraid I need to leave. Now. Carry on without me if you so wish to.”  
  
Without further delay, his intrepid employer fled the stuffy, claustrophobic penthouse, leaving him temporarily alone to handle the fallout of the will readings. It was either face the wrath of several angry women or flee after one whose bark was much worse than her bite but whom he knew for a fact had had her rabies shot. The Jackal wasn't so sure he could say the same for either Claudia Zacchara or Carly Quartermaine Corinthos. So, decision made, he sprinted and skidded, hopped and jumped, tumbled and rolled, and eventually made his way out into the hallway. “Wait for me,” he cried out desperately, too afraid to stay any longer without his guard dog there to protect him.  
  
At the very last second, just as the penthouse he had moments before vacated exploded into a brawl more potent than even the most vicious inner-planetary war, Spinelli slid home free into the elevator.  
  
“The P.C. Grill,” his legal eagle of a boss proposed an offer of a celebratory meal congenially.  
  
Dinner and a show after all?  
  
The Jackal's job rocked.


	36. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

If it was the last thing she did before she died, Elizabeth was determined to learn how to make the best damn pecan pie. Ever. It only seemed right considering she was now a pecan farmer... amongst other things. With so many of the nuts at her disposal, it felt unnatural not to be able to put them to use, and, while Jason never asked for sweet treats or dessert, he was also now in the habit of eating them whenever they were available. So much had changed since they had left Port Charles three years prior.  
  
Obviously, the fact that she could now passably cook was one major difference. No one had pressured her into the hobby, and, though they lived in the country now, there was a town close enough that getting take out every night was feasible. But their life in Texas, though no one knew that was where they were, was slower, more relaxed. On most days, Elizabeth didn't want to leave her home in order to find sustenance, so she learned how to make do on her own.  
  
Between her pecan trees, the horses, and 75 acres to maintain and enjoy, the land alone was enough to keep her busy, but she also had her family and all the chores and joys that came with being married and raising a small child. Although their son Jake had been adopted, she loved him no less and yet no more than her two biological children. So far, he had been with them less than a year, but, in her opinion, he was already growing up much too quickly. Plus, there were bike rides around their property, gardening – apparently all those teas with Lila had finally paid off, and she had even started painting again. It wasn't her passion like before. She didn't think it ever would be again, but the instinct to freeze a moment in her son's life on canvas had been too pressing to ignore, and, besides, the wind looked different speeding down an old, country, Texan highway than it did in New York.  
  
However, she was baking that afternoon. She wasn't gardening, or walking the land, or painting. Sitting on her favorite swing on their wrap around porch, Elizabeth pulled her short clad, almost bare legs up and under her, curling into herself as she prepared to read the latest update letter Johnny had sent them. The notes didn't come very often – maybe one every six months, but, when they did, she dropped everything to read them, for they were always amusing and contained information about several people she loved very much. Plus, by the time the missives reached her hands, they were already several weeks old. To ensure their anonymity, Jason had the letters routed through several false addresses, every precaution taken. Apparently, you could take the boy out of danger, but you couldn't remove the suspicion from the boy. She didn't mind, though. In fact, she knew that protecting them was just one of the ways her husband showed his love, and what wife would argue with romantic demonstrations... even paranoid ones?  
  
So, with a glass of sweet tea and several cookies on a plate beside her, Elizabeth started to read. 

} ~ {

_Sangria was a horrible, awful thing - perhaps even a secret killing agent of the government's. He should have known better than to listen to The Evil Blonde One; he should have known that her suggestions of celebration to mark the day they opened their first boutique in New York City would backfire worse than a chili cheese dog with a side of baked beans. If he would have just stuck with his usual alcoholic beverage of choice – wine coolers, The Jackal knew that he wouldn't be on the verge of imminent death. And the worst part? The Feisty Fashionista was apparently no worse for wear. In fact, she was humming. Loudly._  
  
Holding his head so that it wouldn't split apart, Spinelli braved talking for the first time that morning. “Why are you not miserable,” he asked his business partner... who still, after three years, insisted upon the fact that she was actually his boss.  
  
“Because everybody make mistakes,” she replied flippantly. Her voice grated on his raw nerves like a metal coat hanger scraping against a metal clothing wrack. “Besides, in my history of bad choices, last night didn't even rank in the top ten. I wasn't arrested, I didn't end up in the hospital, and there weren't any cameras involved.” Her voice hardening, she demanded, “there weren't, right?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Because, now that I think about it, despite your previous virgin status, you could be a secret, closet pervert. Tell me that you did not film us last night for your future pleasure?”  
  
Two sentences but oh so much information revealed!  
  
Speaking slowly, Spinelli questioned, “previous virgin status? Us?”  
  
“Hey, I'll be the first one to admit that you didn't rock my world last night, but at least I can remember it!”  
  
“Evil Blonde One, I beseech you,” he practically begged, even going so far to get down on his knees before her. “The Jackal is in no shape to puzzle through a riddle this morning. Did we or did we not have sex last night?”  
  
“Yeah,” she answered, laughing self-deprecatingly. “I had one too many glasses of wine, and whoops! I popped your cheery.” Cringing slightly, she continued, “if you were saving it for marriage or something, sorry about that, but, if tequila makes my clothes come off, Sangria provides me with rose tinted glasses. Even your bones looked jump-able last night.”  
  
He knew he sounded like a dense fool, but he didn't care. “We. Had. Sex?”  
  
“Uh, I already told you that.” Snapping her fingers, Maxie ordered, “keep up already, Jackass. I'm not sure how many times I can tell this story before my queasy stomach from earlier flares back up again. A slice of bread, a bottle of water, and a few aspirin only go so far to curb a hangover, you know.”  
  
Going back through the various things she had said, he picked up on an previous comment. “So, I take it the sex... between you and me... wasn't the greatest?”  
  
“Oh, it was terrible! And strange. You're oddly... flexible, Damien. But don't worry,” she assured him. “I'm sure you'll meet some freak of a girl someday soon who will be perfect for you to practice your skills on. What I know for sure is that that girl won't be me.”  
  
“We're not dating then?”  
  
“Oh, no. We're so much better as boss and employee.”  
  
Bitch translation, he worked out for himself: let's just be friends.  
  
As Maxie walked away laughing, Spinelli realized that he actually agreed with her. A three year infatuation crushed by a single night of lack-luster passion... that he couldn't even remember. Girls were the strangest, most puzzling creatures in the world. They even surpassed lemmings on the head scratching scale. If that didn't say everything there was to know about women, The Jackal didn't know what possibly could. 

} ~ {

“ _Miss Miller, we need to talk.”_  
  
Looking up from her gourmet, egg-white only, hold the cheese omelet, her fresh squeezed orange juice, her designer coffee, and her newspaper, Diane observed the man before her. In the three years since he had come to be under her employ, he had changed so much. His hair was much more stylish, his body toned thanks to the gym membership she provided him with as a holiday bonus, and he was definitely a much snazzier dresser. Her influence had certainly been productive, but, still, she wondered why the handsome professional was still single. And he was. She had just checked his online dating status the night before.  
  
“Yes, what is it, Mr. Giambetti?”  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you? It's just Max. Please.”  
  
“And, as I have told you numerous times, I will not call you Max until you cease and desist on this Miss Miller business. You make me feel like your teacher or worse someone's mother.” Offering the younger man what she felt was her most winning smile, the lawyer cooed, “call me Diane.”  
  
He nodded, shifted uneasily, and then cracked his knuckles – all in preparation, apparently, for what he wanted to say. “As we both know, the demand for highly trained security personnel in this town has recently decreased drastically.”  
  
“Although I disagree with your use of the adverb 'recently,' I do subscribe to your general statement. What I don't understand, though, is what this has to do with you?” Nodding towards the chair adjacent to her own, she invited the former bodyguard to sit down.  
  
“Miss Mill.... er, Diane, working for you has been great. You pay well. You're funny. You even help me with my Christmas shopping every year. I cannot tell you how much happier my mom and sisters have been since I started working for you. But I'm miserable.” All through the younger man's listing of why being with her was so wonderful, she had been smiling, but that grin disappeared entirely when he admitted that he was unhappy. “You have no idea how boring it is to act as your driver, your bag carrier, your doorman after years of working for Mr. Corinthos. He might have been volatile, and the job might have been dangerous, but at least I wasn't bored. Hell, you had me overseeing the construction of your new closet last week!”  
  
“It's a very impressive structure,” she argued passionately. “Maxie Jones designed it especially for me. It's a one of a kind, luxury, all inclusive dressing room. I'm in love with it. In fact, you should consider it my husband and guard it accordingly. After all,” she added derisively, “being inside of it is the closet I've come to an orgasm in months!”  
  
Max blushed profusely, and his eyes fell to the table in obvious embarrassment. However, she was shocked when he didn't offer his excuses and flee rapidly. Instead, he mumbled, “speaking of, uh, well, you know... orgasms, maybe you'd like to go out with me sometime. We could have dinner and then go dancing. I might be big, but I move well.”  
  
“Oh, I have no doubt,” she agreed, already licking her lips in anticipation. “Tell you what, Max. Let's skip dinner and jump right into the horizontal tango. Your place or mine?”  
  
“Well, we're at your place now.”  
  
“Good point,” she said, standing up quickly and already moving to leave her morning room. “You grab the chocolate sauce and ice cubes; I'll grab the cuffs. Meet me in my closet in two minutes.”  
  
To help make the morning even better, Diane remembered that she had managed to snag one of the contractor's tool belts without getting caught. Damn, her instincts were impeccable!

} ~ {

“ _You made the mess, so you clean it up.”_  
  
“Robin, it's hardly a mess. It's a few boxes of Chinese take out, a couple dirty plates, and a spilled pack of soy sauce.”  
  
“Well, then,” she turned to face him, hands on hips. “If it's no hassle at all, why don't you deal with it.”  
  
“Because I cooked,” Patrick defended.  
  
“Picking up a phone and calling in an order of food does not constitute cooking,” she argued, eyes flashing. “I do that all the time, and you never credit me with cooking dinner.”  
  
“Look, I'm tired. I lost not one but two patients on the operating table today, and the last thing I want to do right now is fight. Could you just, please, pick up this one time. I just want to sit down with a beer and watch some TV if that's not too much to ask.”  
  
“Oh, that's it,” Robin exclaimed, picking up a dish rag and tossing it at him. “You act like it's my  job _to clean up after you, like, just because I'm the woman in this relationship, it's my duty to see to my man's needs. Well, guess what? Not happening, Drake! I, too, lose patients all the time, but you don't ever see me crying boo-hoo and shoving my work off onto you.”_  
  
“Fine,” he relented, throwing his hands up in the air. “If that's how you want to play it, then just leave. I don't need this tonight.”  
  
“What? What don't you need?”  
  
“You,” he answered, yelling. “You and your broken record women's lib diatribe. Just go home, and I'll see you tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, you'll be a little more understanding and a little less of a shrew.”  
  
“Oh, it's such a good thing that you haven't asked me to move in with you yet, because, even if you did, I'd never consent.”  
  
“Well, then, it's a good thing I have no intentions of  ever _asking you and your daughter to live with me.”_  
  
Robin took a step forward, narrowing her eyes in a hostile glower. “And what does Cate have to do with this?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Ignoring him, she continued, “because I thought we'd finally managed to deal with that issue, that you had come to accept her, that you maybe, in fact, had learned to even like her a little bit.”  
  
“Cate's a great kid, Robin,” Patrick assured her. “In fact, she's great period. I'd gladly live with her; it's you that drives me crazy.”  
  
With a barely suppressed huff of frustration and anger, she went to push past him, but he wouldn't allow her to pass. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders, playfully backed her into the countertop, and kissed her speechless. Instead of beer and sports, he had a much better idea on how he could alleviate his work aggravation. When Robin bit his lip in response, he knew their relationship was back on its usual ground: hot, complicated, and turbulent - just the way he liked it. 

} ~ {

_Without a word, Alexis dropped a small, black velvet jewelry box in front him as he worked. Glancing up from his papers, Jax accused, “you weren't supposed to find that yet.”_  
  
“Well, then, I'd suggest you hide things in more original places.”  
  
“It was in a sauce pan that you wouldn't know how to use even if you actually wanted to cook something in the kitchen that you only enter for three reasons: to make popcorn, to pour yourself a cup or coffee, or to find Jackeline when she's playing hide and seek at night when it's bath time.”  
  
“Yes, well,” the lawyer dismissed his argument without actually offering one of her own. “Take it back.”  
  
“Have you even looked at this one yet?”  
  
“I don't need to, Jax. I'm sure it's just as gorgeous as the diamond, as the ruby, as the emerald, and as the sapphire, but, as I've already told you four times, I'm not going to marry you.”  
  
“You married me once; you'll marry me again,” he countered. “I just have to find the right bargaining chip.”  
  
“I can tell you right now that it's not going to be a ring that convinces me to walk down the aisle for the third time. And, given my track record, I'm shocked you'd actually want to risk such a good thing on a sure-fire failure.”  
  
“Well, I, for one, don't believe that our marriage... when you finally consent to marry me... will fail,” he contended.  
  
Sitting down in the chair across from his desk, Alexis said, “let's review my marital history, shall we? I married you to help out Chloe, and that marriage failed. I married Sonny because he knocked me up, and that marriage was a disaster that never should have happened in the first place. And I almost married Ned whom I actually loved at the time but ran away from instead.” Meeting his steady, unconvinced gaze pointedly, she asked, “is that really a list you want to add another horror story to? Trust me, Jax. It isn't.”  
  
“I think you should allow me to be the judge of that. Besides, at this point,” he argued, “it'd really only be a formality anyway. I love you, and I know that you love me, too. We live together, we're raising our daughter together, and I already know that you're never going to change your name, so, if for no other reason, do it for Jackeline. She's starting playschool this fall. You don't want her to be confused when the other kids talk about their  married _mommies and daddies, do you?”_  
  
“I'm sure she'll be no more confused than the kids who come from broken homes or the kids who have two mommies or two daddies. Really, when you think about today's nuclear family, her situation is rather quite normal – a shocking accomplishment for a Cassadine descendant if I do say so myself.”  
  
“Fine, then do it for the tax right off.”  
  
The mother of his child laughed at him then, standing up and tossing him back the ring box she still had yet to bother opening. “Like you really need such a thing.”  
  
He didn't, but he did need her, and sooner or later, whether she wanted to or not, he'd get Alexis Davis, attorney at law, down the aisle if it was the last thing he did. For some reason, he suspected that getting her there would be half the fun. 

} ~ {

_Not three seconds after he rang the bell did he hear his grandfather bellowing for one of the staff to go and open the door. Smiling to himself, Michael entered the Quartermaine home, immediately tugging his little brother behind him to the dining room where he knew he'd find his family. It was amazing for him to think that, three years earlier, Grandfather and Grandmother, Grandma Monica, and Grandpa Alan, and his cousin Spencer had all practically been strangers. Now, because he, his little brother Morgan, and his mother all lived in the gatehouse, not a day went by when he didn't see the always bickering Quartermaines. He found them interesting, amusing, and far more entertaining than the so-called reality shows his mom insisted upon watching all the time._  
  
“Oh, it's Michael and Morgan,” his Grandpa Alan announced when he and his brother walked hand in hand into the dining room. “See, father, there was no reason to give us all heart attacks by yelling for Reginald and Alice.” Turning back to them, the chief of staff asked, “are you boys hungry? We were just finishing breakfast, but there's plenty left. Or, if you want something besides what we had, I could ask cook to make you some chocolate chip pancakes or some banana waffles.”  
  
Michael shrugged. “Eggs are good. And Morgan's weird. He likes oatmeal, so he'll be happy with a bowl of that.”  
  
“And where's your mother this morning, young man,” Grandfather demanded to know.  
  
Already seated with a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh fruit placed before him, he answered between bites of food. “She's still sleeping. She had a date last night.”  
  
“I'm sure she did,” Grandma Monica muttered under her breath, but he still heard her. Louder, she offered, “come and sit by me, Morgan, and I'll help you.”  
  
Speaking for the first time, his Grandmother asked, “were you not in the mood for cereal this morning, Michael?” She knew him better than anyone else in the room, so she knew he preferred Lucky Charms or Cap'n Crunch over fancy, healthy breakfast foods.  
  
“No. We're just out. I brought over five bucks from my piggy bank. I was hoping that maybe cook was going to the store today. I thought I'd ask her to pick some up for me.”  
  
“Cereal, huh,” Grandpa Alan queried thoughtfully. “You know, it's been ages since I've had a good bowl of cereal. Save your money, Michael. We'll just have cook pick up a variety, and, from now on, you and your brother should just come here for breakfast every morning.”  
  
Michael shrugged. He wasn't opposed to such an idea, and he knew that Morgan would approve as well. While he might have been just a kid, Michael knew things. People told him all the time that he was a very intelligent child. While he wasn't sure if they were right or not, he understood that his brother wasn't actually related to the Quartermaines, but they didn't treat Morgan any differently than they did him. That was what he liked the most about his newfound family members. Even when they could have done so, they didn't play favorites... at least not when it came to himself and Morgan.  
  
He couldn't say the same thing where his mother was concerned, because he knew for a fact that the Q's didn't like his mom. But he wasn't sure that he could blame them. While he'd always love her – after all, she was his mother, he was old enough to see her faults, and he knew that she had basically bartered him in exchange for a place to live and a stipend. But he and Morgan were happy, and they were healthy. Right or wrong, he was glad that his mom had gone to the Quartermaine's for help, and he knew for a fact that they were glad, too.

} ~ {

“ _We're going to have to be careful. This isn't going to be an easy thing to explain to them.”_  
  
Johnny laughed. He was too happy to really fear his wife's warning. “Conversations with your children that deal with sex are never pleasant.”  
  
“I'm not talking about that part,” Nadine elbowed him playfully in the ribs. It was early, both the kids were still asleep, but they were too jazzed to be resting themselves. Seated between his arms and leaning back against his bare chest, she continued, “I mean we're going to have to be careful how we talk about the baby... our first biological child.”  
  
Despite his fears, Jason and Elizabeth had been right in their reassurance. Nadine had been able to see past his role in her daughter's unconventional birth, and, just shy of a year after his confession, they had married in a small yet traditional ceremony. Soon afterwards, Diane managed to push his adoption of both Spencer and Laura through the clogged court systems. From prison, Nikolas had tried to protest the final step in having his son taken away from him, but, with a life sentence settled upon him like a yoke around his shoulders, Cassadine didn't have a leg to stand on. Now, just that morning, Nadine had taken a home pregnancy test and discovered that they were expecting their third child. Even after three years of enjoying the bliss of normalcy, his life still felt somewhat surreal.  
  
“The kids know that we love them. We've never treated them differently despite the various ways they've entered our lives.”  
  
“Yeah, but it's not the same,” she argued. “Different circumstances or not, they're both ours by adoption, and, now, this new baby is ours biologically. No matter how much we love Spencer and Laura, no matter how much we reassure them, they're going to be a little insecure. It's only natural.”  
  
“Well, then, we'll just have to make sure that, by the time little baby girl or baby boy Zacchara arrives, they're ready.” Sighing, he admitted, “it probably would be easier if they were younger, because they wouldn't be so aware, and they wouldn't understand what was happening, but we can't help their ages... no matter how much you hate the fact that they're getting older,” he teased his wife.  
  
“Our son is less than a year away from reaching double digits, our daughter two. Don't tell me that doesn't freak you out, too. In a few years, they'll be dating!”  
  
“Spencer maybe; Laura over my dead body.”  
  
She chuckled, turning around to cup his shadowed jaw and kiss him softly. “How did I know that you'd react that way?”  
  
“Because you've met my sister. You've seen what the women in my family are like. There's no way my little girl is going to be given the opportunity to turn into the next Claudia Zacchara.”  
  
Twisting back around, Nadine snuggled under the light sheet they had pulled over them and asked, “she still living in Italy?”  
  
“That was the last I heard.”  
  
“I hope news of the baby doesn't bring her riding back to town on her broomstick like what happened when she learned we got married.”  
  
Kissing his wife's rumpled, blonde hair, Johnny told her, “I'll speak with Diane, see what she recommends. Maybe we could get a restraining order against her or something.”  
  
Nadine sighed blissfully. “My hero.”  
  
And if that was all he'd ever be – a father and a husband, his family's hero, it'd be enough. He no longer drove fancy sports cars, and traveling no longer appealed the way it used to. Now, he looked forward to kids' soccer games and the once a year family migration to Southern Florida and Disney World. Sometimes, when Johnny looked in the mirror to shave in the morning, he didn't recognize the man who smiled back at him. And that was a good thing.

} ~ {

“You look happy,” Jason observed, taking a seat beside her on the swing. He held Jake in his arms, their baby obviously wide awake and raring for yet another adventure. Like father; like son. “I take it Johnny had some good news to share in his letter?”  
  
“The best,” she replied, smiling up at him. When he lifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders, she snuggled into his proffered embrace. “I know you'll read it for yourself later, but can I give you the highlights?”  
  
“Sure,” he agreed. He always did, and she always took advantage of the fact.  
  
“So, first of all, the girls are both doing great. He sent new pictures for us again. They're still best friends, and he thinks they're going to end up driving Spencer insane, because they refuse to be separated, spending practically every single day and night together now that it's summer break, and they prefer staying with Nadine and Johnny because they have a pool and a big yard whereas Robin's apartment building doesn't.”  
  
“You know, I wonder if anyone else will ever figure the truth out, especially if the girls remain as close when they get older.”  
  
“I don't know,” Elizabeth answered, shrugging slightly. The movement, however, was significantly hampered by her husband's larger frame... not that she minded. “Johnny mentions the same thing in the letter. Look at you two,” she teased. “Thousands of miles apart, and you're still in sync.”  
  
“We worked well together,” was all Jason offered in reply. Sometimes, she wondered if he missed his friend. She knew that she missed Robin and Nadine. Though they were only in each others' lives for a relatively short time, their friendship had been important to her.  
  
“Johnny also wrote about how Nadine is nervous about telling Spencer and Laura.”  
  
“About us being her biological parents,” Jason questioned, obviously shocked that their friends would be considering doing such a thing.  
  
Elizabeth giggled slightly, amused at her own antics of baiting him. “No, she's worried about telling them about the baby – the one she and Johnny will be having in... oh, seven months or so.”  
  
Jason smiled brightly at the news before asking, “what about everyone else?”  
  
“Oh,” Elizabeth remarked suddenly, startled out of her thoughts. “Sorry about that. Drifting.”  
  
“I don't mind. You're cute when you drift.”  
  
“Only when I drift,” she challenged him with a mock lift of a finely shaped eyebrow.  
  
With a grin of his own, Jason responded, “when you're not drifting, you're other things.”  
  
“Good answer.” Backing up her praise with a quick kiss to his jaw, she then launched back into the news from Port Charles. “Well, Robin and Patrick are still dating and still fighting. No big surprise there. I guess Maxie and Spinelli had a little one night stand, but they've since then decided they're better off as friends.”  
  
“Maxie Jones and Diane's Grasshopper?”  
  
“Apparently, fashion makes for odd bed mates,” Elizabeth mused jokingly.  
  
“Just another reason to stick to jeans and t-shirts,” he mumbled under his breath. Considering that was pretty much what she wore as well now – she definitely didn't miss the scrubs, she had to agree. “Speaking of Diane, how's she?”  
  
“Dating Max.”  
  
“As in Giambetti, Sonny's old guard?”  
  
“The one and only,” Elizabeth remarked. “I guess Alexis is having a field day with it, especially after how much and for how long Diane taunted her for being involved with Sonny.”  
  
“Is Alexis still refusing to marry Jax?”  
  
She laughed. “You know it.”  
  
They fell silent then, both of them knowing there was only one group of people left to discuss. It was Jason who finally had to ask, because she wasn't going to bring them up before he was ready. “And the Q's, Carly and the boys?”  
  
“Happy,” she said simply. “While you can certainly argue with Carly's methods, she did a good thing by going to your Grandmother and asking for help.”  
  
Though he didn't respond, Elizabeth knew that he agreed with her. When Jake started to fuss, impatient with sitting and doing nothing for so long, Jason stood up, and she followed, tucking Johnny's letter into one of her back pockets. As they walked together off the porch, going down into the yard and onto their land instead of inside – the beautiful, picturesque summer day calling them into its embrace, he surprised her by asking, “do you ever... regret leaving?”  
  
It took her a mere heartbeat to answer. “Not even once.”


End file.
